


If the darkness is to keep us apart…

by stjarna



Series: Engineering vs Biochem - 2017 (Team Engineering) [12]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: And after all that angst some happy end, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But first you have to get through some angst, Engineering VS Biochem, F/M, More angst, Team Engineering, definitely angst, does NOT take place in space, more characters to be tagged later, season 5 spec fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: A Season 5 spec fic that does not take place in space.





	1. You can only take so much

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AGL03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGL03/gifts).



> Title and chapter titles from "Walk On" by U2.
> 
> Inspired by chatting too much with Agl03 about theories we don't necessarily want to come true but don't want to rule out either.
> 
> Big thank you to @dilkirani for the beta.
> 
> Banner by me.

 

Jemma jerks up, feels her muscles tense unexpectedly, feels her lungs inhale a panicked, short breath.

Hypnic jerk.

That sudden feeling when you’re being ripped from the state between waking and sleeping. Like you’re falling for a split second, off a seesaw, off a chair, off a cliff, off a plane, until you open your eyes and your brain catches up with reality.

Jemma’s eyes open abruptly and her heart races for a moment as her mind tries to determine where she is and what’s going on and if she’s awake or asleep or in between or nowhere at all.

She sees the waitress behind the counter staring at her (or maybe past her), wide-eyed and in shock, the coffeepot still in hand, and it tells Jemma where she is, or where she appears to be at least: the diner where they’d all been for a last meal before they’d be on the run once more, or—as it turned out—a last meal before whoever was after them would get to them.

Her hands begin to tremble slightly and Jemma suddenly realizes that her arms are still raised above her shoulders. Slowly she lowers them, as her mind puts together a few more puzzle pieces of memories. She remembers the men entering the establishment. How the diner had gone dark. How they’d marched in. Silently. Imposing. Their guns cocked. How one of them had addressed Coulson by his name. Just his name. Nothing else. She remembers Coulson being Coulson and trying to address the situation with his usual dry humor and perceived indifference. She remembers a sudden high-pitched noise, a strange feeling rushing through her. Then she remembers…

Then she remembers the hypnic jerk that brought her back to the exact same spot mere moments ago.

_Or had it been moments?_

_How long had it been?_

Jemma turns her head to the right, seeing Daisy, Coulson, May, Elena, and Mack. They all look bewildered, slightly confused, slightly surprised, as if they’d woken up from a strange dream much like Jemma herself, except there are absolutely no memories of why they’d fallen asleep or what that dream may have been. A nightmare, an idyllic peaceful vision, who knows?

_Why are we still here? What did those men want if not to take us? What did they do?_

Slowly, Jemma turns her head to the left.

“No!”

The word escapes her lips like a silent exhale, like all the air has been punched out of her lungs.

Her eyes widen, unwilling to believe what she’s seeing, what she’s not seeing, _whom_ she’s not seeing.

She slides off the barstool and scrambles a few feet away from the empty seat where Fitz had been sitting, sitting right next to her, sitting right next to her contemplating which pie to eat for dessert.

Chocolate banana cream. He’d definitely have chosen chocolate banana cream.

Jemma’s breath becomes short and ragged, and the world around her seems to be filled only with the sounds of her anxious heartbeat and a high-pitched ringing in her ears. Tears shoot to her eyes, distorting her vision.

Somewhere in the background she thinks maybe she hears someone calling her name, but it’s like everything but that empty barstool has disappeared, there are no other people in the room, no other objects. There’s nothing but herself, her heartbeat, that goddamn high-pitched ringing and an empty chair.

“Why would you do this?” she hears herself scream at the empty chair, at the empty space, at the bloody cosmos.

Somehow it resonates in her head like an empty echo chamber.

Empty. It’s all empty.

“Are you happy now? Huh? Are you happy that you did it again?”

She yells at the bloody universe, waiting for it to reply.

“Why? Why would you do this? What did we ever do to you?”

She throws her arms in the air, and yet there’s still nothing but silence surrounding her.

“Why do you rip us apart? Why do you always rip us apart? Why do you hate us so much?”

Every muscle in her body hurts with tension and yet the cosmos keeps taunting her.

“Haven’t you put us through enough already? Couldn’t you give us one bloody break? Just one bloody break? Why do you do this? Why do you hate us? Why? Tell me why!”

She reaches behind herself and somehow her hand finds something, a cylinder of some sort. Warm, hot almost. Smooth ceramic. She curls her fingers around the object, tightens her grip and flings whatever she’s holding forward.

When the coffee cup shatters against the front of the counter, splashing hot coffee across the floor, when some of the shocked guests and employees of the diner shriek in fear, Jemma’s world suddenly pulls back into focus.

She spins around slowly and yet the simple motion makes her feel dizzy. Her eyes wander around the room, the broken pieces of ceramic, the brown puddle of coffee, the shocked faces of the people staring at her, the empty barstool.

Suddenly, the tears that her anger had allowed her to hold back begin streaming down her face.

Somebody’s arms wrap around her. Jemma can’t tell who it is, but she can tell it’s somebody she knows, somebody who knows her, somebody who knows that her world has just been shattered like that damn coffee cup, except her world had been shattered when she hadn’t had a chance to put the pieces from the last time back together yet.

Jemma lets herself sink back into those arms, those reassuring, friendly, strong arms, and lets them guide her to the ground, lets them hold her tighter.

“It’s alright,” May’s calm voice whispers into Jemma’s hair. “It will be alright.”

Jemma buries her head into May’s chest, clenching her fist into the fabric of May’s jacket and lets her tears run freely while her body shakes with sobs.

She notices somebody else crouching down next to them, feels another reassuring hand on her back, but she can’t bring herself to look at who it is.

Darkness surrounds her. Her eyes shut tight. Pressed against May’s jacket. Her heart, mind, and soul covered in black.

“He was right,” she whispers. “We’re cursed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I want Fitzsimmons to start out S5 physically separated? Hell no! Do I think they might be? I have no idea, but I'm preparing myself for everything.
> 
> Estimated chapter count: 6 shortish chapters (but most of you know me and the reliability of my estimated chapter counts)


	2. I know it aches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you to @dilkirani for the beta.

Fitz jerks up, feels his muscles tense unexpectedly, feels his lungs inhale a panicked, short breath as he’s ripped from the state between sleeping and waking. He opens his eyes and his heart races for a moment as his mind tries to determine where he is and what’s going on and if he’s awake or asleep or in between or nowhere at all.

A diner. He’d been at a diner. Sitting next to Jemma. Contemplating chocolate banana cream pie as they’d had their last meal before they’d be on the run once more.

But now he’s staring at a white ceiling, white sterile walls. A fluorescent tube flickers unpleasantly above him, causing his vision to be distorted by light spots burning themselves into his corneas.

Fitz sits up, the simple bed frame he’s lying on squeaking beneath him. He looks around the small room. It’s a cell of some sort. A prison? Psychiatric ward? Nothing in it but the bed, a small table with one chair, a small nightstand with a lamp, a toilet, and a sink in the far corner.

Fitz notices his heart rate quicken as his breathing becomes more ragged. He closes his eyes, trying to calm himself, trying to stop the high-pitched ringing in his ears, but his eyelids shoot open when he hears the heavy metal door open.

He stares at the man entering. Tall, skinny, bald, maybe fifty, maybe fifty-five, wearing a dark suit with a tie. His eyes are cold and fixed on Fitz, his lips pulled into an almost taunting smile.

“Doctor Fitz. I’m glad you’re up,” the man remarks, his hands crossed behind his back as he takes two more steps into the room.

A cold shiver runs down Fitz’s spine. He scrambles out of bed, tumbling for a moment with lightheadedness. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’d been drugged before being dragged wherever this was.

Fitz isn’t willing to acknowledge the man’s fake friendliness, not willing to let this man tower over him.

“Where am I?” he demands in a firm tone. “Where’s Jemma? Where are the others?”

The man scoffs, focusing far too obviously on adjusting the cuffs of his suit to keep Fitz waiting.

“It is our policy not to answer any questions until our questions have been answered,” he eventually replies coldly.

The corners of Fitz’s mouth quirk into a challenging smile. “Funny. We have the same policy then. That could be a problem.”

The stranger meets Fitz’s eyes, the smile on his lips fading for just a split-second until he finds his composure again. “A problem for you, Doctor, certainly not—”

“Don’t call me that,” Fitz growls through gritted teeth.

For the second time, the stranger lets out a condescending puff of air. “S.H.I.E.L.D. does not exist anymore… once again. Which means, you are—once again—no longer an agent. So Doctor it is.”

Fitz presses his lips into a thin line, unable to stop his eyes from welling up. “I said don’t call me that.”

“It would be in your best interest, Doctor Fitz, if you changed your attitude. A.I.M. has been hoping to recruit you for our cause for a long time. We always keep our eyes on brilliant scientists such as yourself, and while we are well aware of your previous association with S.H.I.E.L.D., we’d like to make the transition for you as easy as possible.”

Fitz lets out a single laugh. “A.I.M.? You’re A.I.M.? As in Baron von Strucker? As in Hydra? Are you out of your bloody mind? You’d think you’d have some kind of note in my file by now that I’ll never work for Hydra.”

“To our knowledge you’ve just spent another life—so to speak—doing just that, Doctor—”

Fitz throws caution to the wind, stepping forward and grabbing the man by his collar. “Stop calling me that! That’s not who I am!” he screams into the other’s face. “How do you know that? How? Where is Jemma? Where are the others?”

Fitz tries to free himself from the grasp of the two guards who rush in, pulling him away.

His adversary straightens his suit and adjusts his tie, chuckling teasingly. “Well, I had hoped you’d be more reasonable than this, Doctor Fitz. I’m afraid you leave me no choice.”

He turns his head slightly to address one of the guards who’s still holding on tightly to Fitz’s arms. “Inform the Head of Security. I’m sure he’ll have more success in getting Doctor Fitz to comply and join our noble cause.”

The guard nods and lets go of Fitz’s arm before heading out the door, while the other armed officer roughly pushes Fitz back until he lands on the bed.

Every muscle in Fitz’s body tenses. He watches helplessly as the two remaining men leave the room and the heavy metal door locks into place.

Suddenly, Fitz notices the silence that surrounds him, the emptiness. He feels a tear rolling down his cheek and wipes it away, half in anger, half in despair, before pushing himself up to standing. He looks around the room again, trying to assess the situation but he can tell that there’s no way out besides the heavy metal door.

He clenches his jaw, forms fists, tightens every muscle until the pain becomes too much to bear. He rushes back to the simple bed frame. When the scream leaves his throat, he barely recognizes his own voice, although it’s the same sound he’d heard when his fists had pounded against a black slab of rock.

He grabs the bed frame, throwing it over. He throws over the nightstand, the table, the chair, anything not bolted to the floor.

And he screams. He screams at his captors, at the empty room, at the bloody cosmos.

Then suddenly it all stops. It’s like all the energy is drained from his body at once, as if the last scream that escapes his lips takes all that’s left of his will to fight with it.

He sinks to the floor, leaning sideways to where the bedframe is lying upside down and lets his tears run freely.

He closes his eyes. There’s nothing. No color. No sound.

Except…

He opens his eyes when he hears a quiet mechanical sound, like a lens zooming in and out. He lifts his head in the direction of the noise and notices the security camera.

They’re watching him.

Of course they are.

And they’ll keep him waiting.

Fitz closes his eyes, succumbing to the sudden onset of exhaustion.

There’s nothing. No color. No sound. No hope.

They’re cursed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the chapter count went up by one, because I decided to split chapter 2 in two (mainly because I'm mean and wanted to leave you with more cliffhangers *evil laugh*).
> 
> Chapter 3 will be up soon.


	3. All that you can't leave behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning: Fitz's backstory.
> 
> Thank you to @dilkirani for the beta

Fitz’s eyes shoot open and his heart rate doubles within seconds when he hears the heavy metal door unlock.

_How long did I sleep?_

He pushes himself up to sitting, staring at the entrance to his cell. He can see the face of one of the guards through the small bulletproof window. The door opens with a slight creak and the guard steps inside, followed by the skinny, bald man who’d paid him a visit earlier. As before, the man is grinning coldly, keeping his hands crossed behind his back.

“Doctor Fitz, now that you’ve had some time to calm down, have you had a change of heart? Or do I really have to resort to getting our Head of Security involved. I assure you, you may not want—”

“Go to hell,” Fitz growls through gritted teeth.

“Watch your language, son!”

The dark, booming voice causes Fitz’s blood to freeze in his veins. It’s a voice he’d tried to forget for twenty years and yet had been forced to have two lifetimes’ worth of memories of.

Fitz scrambles to his feet when his father steps into the cell. His dad is slimmer in this world than in the Framework, but his eyes are just as glaring and his voice is just as threatening. Fitz glances down his left arm, watching helplessly as his hand begins to tremble.

When his father steps closer, Fitz forces himself to stand his ground, clenching his jaw, tensing every muscle in his body, willing himself to meet the eyes of his abuser with confidence.

“So we meet again, son.” His father eyes him up and down and Fitz feels his stomach churn as he inhales the all-too-familiar scent of alcohol on his father’s breath. “Must say, I preferred the other version of you.”

“You were there.” Fitz is not even sure if he’s asking a question or stating a fact, but he wishes his voice had been more confident; he wishes there weren’t tears in his eyes.

His father scoffs. “Had to see it with my own eyes.”

Fitz takes a step back, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair, as his thoughts turn into words he can’t stop from tumbling out, getting angrier and louder with each sentence. “It told the truth. His bloody LMD told the truth. He’d gone to see you. He’d tried to sell tech to A.I.M. _A.I.M!_ We saved him from Hive. We saved his bloody reputation. Cleared his name. Let him work for us. Gave him resources and he goes and meets with A.I.M.?”

Fitz turns around, growling in anger and bending his knees, clenching his hands into fists. “That bloody bastard. That bloody bastard with his lack of moral compass and his bloody—”

“That’s enough!”

Fitz hates the way he flinches, the way he falls silent and straightens up on command, the way he looks at his father through the corners of his eyes, too scared to face him directly. He hates not knowing which memories of the man in front of him are real and which ones have been fabricated in a second life he never asked for. He hates that both sets of memories cause him to fear his father, but one causes him to love him all the same.

His father takes a step towards him and once again, Fitz clenches his fists to stop his hands from shaking.

“When Radcliffe first approached me, I didn’t find the tech he mentioned worth my superiors’ time,” his dad remarks matter-of-factly. “But when his assistant showed up later… Well, let’s just say what she proposed was much more intriguing and convincing. Although that English girl of yours put a bit of a damper on my experience in that virtual world you helped create. I would be dead if our technicians hadn’t managed to log me out before my avatar bled out. Feisty one, though, I’ll give you that. Put up more of a fight than your mother ever—”

His father doesn’t get further than that when Fitz’s fist connects with his nose. His dad’s head flings back and he honest-to-God seems surprised for a moment when he looks back up, staring at Fitz, who’s standing with his fist still raised.

His father dabs his nose with the back of his hand, inspecting the blood clinging to his skin before pulling a kerchief out of his pocket and wiping away the bloody trail running down his nose.

“So you’ve finally grown a pair?” One corner of his father’s mouth is ticked up into a taunting grin. “Good for you. Although, I’ll teach you to show your father some respect.”

“You bloody bast—” Fitz pulls his clenched fist back, ready to punch again, but his father is quicker this time, pressing his forearm against Fitz’s throat and taking a few fast, wide steps forward, causing Fitz to stumble backwards until his back hits the wall.

Fitz tries to push his father’s arm away, but the older man only pushes back harder.

“What did you do to Jemma?” Fitz croaks, feeling his windpipe being constricted more and more.

“I don’t give a damn about what happens to your girl in this world, son!” his father growls through gritted teeth, his eyes burning painfully into Fitz’s soul. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have minded a bit of additional leverage to get you to cooperate, but it was hard enough to negotiate with those gentlemen that were keen on getting their hands on what was left of your little team to leave _you_ to us. And I’m quite certain that I have all the leverage I need.”

Fitz reflexively coughs when his father suddenly releases the pressure on his throat, but he doesn’t have the strength to do anything else, leaning his head against the wall behind him instead to try and recover.

His father takes two steps back, staring at him challengingly.

“Bring her in,” he orders the guard standing next to the door coldly without ever taking his eyes off Fitz.

“Willson, bring her in,” the guard calls into the hallway, and intuitively Fitz’s eyes wander to the entrance of his cell.

He feels like all the air is punched out of his lungs when the second guard drags his mother into the room, her hands bound behind her back and a gag silencing her desperate cry, as she stares helplessly at her son.

“Mum,” Fitz whispers, feeling tears shoot to his eyes.

“Like I said, I’m quite certain I have all the leverage I need.”

Fitz lunges forward, tries to push past his father.

“Take your hands off her!” he hears himself scream, but the old man’s strong arm pushes Fitz back against the wall.

His face is so close now that were it not for the adrenaline rushing through his body, Fitz would fear he’d pass out from his father’s alcohol-drenched breath.

“You will cooperate, son. You will work for A.I.M. You will stop being disrespectful towards me or anyone in this organization. Or your mother will suffer. Is that clear?”

Fitz hates the tears snaking down his cheeks. He hates his own silence. He hates that he nods. He hates the pained look on his mother’s face. Her confusion. Her sadness. Her fear. For herself and for her son, he’s sure.

His father lets go of Fitz’s throat, straightening his suit instead. “That’s my boy.”

He turns around, grabbing Fitz’s mum by the arm and dragging her out into the hallway as she squirms and tries to get away. The two guards and the tall, bald man exit behind him.

It’s not until the heavy door falls into place with a metal clank that Fitz snaps out of his frozen state.

He rushes to the door, hammering his fists against the hard surface and pressing his face against the bulletproof window.

“You loved her!” he screams as loudly as he can. “You loved her once! How can you do this? How can you do this to her? Let her go!”

He slams his fists against the door, screaming at the top of his lungs, until his hands become numb, until he becomes numb, until everything becomes numb.

Fitz turns around, sliding his back down the cold metal until he sits on the floor, pulling his knees up and burying his face in his hands.

“Let her go,” he whispers one more time, before his body starts shaking with sobs.

* * *

When his father shows up later with two guards and a scrawny looking guy in a lab coat, Fitz follows them silently to the lab they’ve set up for him.

“Welcome to A.I.M., son!” His father gestures at the equipment and designs laid out on the workbench. “Familiarize yourself with everything. Although you should already be quite familiar with a lot of it.”

Fitz’s eyes wander over some of the blueprints and prototypes and he notices the acidic taste of bile in his mouth when he recognizes his own designs.

His father slaps him on the back and Fitz tries not to flinch at the sensation. “Maybe The Doctor has some old-new ideas for you as well.”

All Fitz can do is press his lips into a thin line, trying to keep from crying, trying to keep from hyperventilating, trying to keep from attacking his father and risking his mother’s life.

“Now, my two boys, Willson and O’Clery, will keep a close eye on you,” his father remarks, gesturing at the two guards. “And Svensen is here to assist you in any way you need.”

Fitz can’t bring himself to look at his father directly.

“Well then,” his father exclaims loudly when Fitz won’t reply. “I’ll leave you to it, son. I will check on your mum now.”

Fitz closes his eyes, clenches his fists, tries to keep his breathing steady as he hears his father’s footsteps disappear and the door to the lab slide shut.

“Is there anything else you need at this point, Doctor Fitz?” a quiet voice asks.

Fitz’s eyes shoot open and he turns his head to stare at Svensen, who smiles shyly back at him.

Fitz looks around the room, the two armed guards, the white, sterile walls, the lab equipment, the blueprints and prototypes lined up on the work bench in front of him, the computers and tablets.

A smile flashes across Fitz’s face. “Yes, actually. There are a few things I need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who assumed as much: Yep, you were right. Alistair is involved.
> 
> I promise, the pain and the angst will get less... eventually.


	4. Your heart it breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again a big thank you to @dilkirani for being my amazing beta.

Jemma’s not sure how long she’s been standing here. She’d made it to the room. She’d made it a few steps into the room. And then everything suddenly froze around her. Time stood still. Space. Her body. Her feelings. Everything turned numb. Everything froze.

Only her eyes and her mind keep wandering.

The part of the Playground where the private quarters are didn’t get destroyed by the explosion or the fire, but the shockwave had nonetheless been strong enough to cause significant damage. Fitz’s picture of space had fallen off the wall, the frame and the photograph of the spiral galaxy now lying in a puddle of broken glass. Other objects had fallen over or fallen to the ground as well. Photographs. Books. Fitz’s three wise monkeys statuette. Their two Tardis sculptures, which they’d set up side by side, joking that then the fourth Doctor and the fifth—their two favorites—would both have a place to stay when they’d visit.

But aside from that, everything is still as it had been when Jemma last left the room before the destruction. She’d been back briefly since then, hastily retrieving a jumper for her LMD that somewhat matched the short-sleeve shirt she’d been wearing (and which luckily seemed to have been convincing enough to fool AIDA). But there had been no time then to really take in what had happened to their bunk, their home.

In and out and back to the lab to Fitz.

But now she’s taking it all in, frozen in time and space. With no one to run back to.

The drawer from which she’d pulled the jumper is still half-open. Two of Fitz’s shirts are still lying next to each other on the bed. Once again, he hadn’t been able to make up his mind about which one to wear. Jemma can’t even remember how long ago it must have been since Fitz last stepped foot into their bunk. Somehow, she’s lost track of time. One second she feels like it has been mere hours since she’d first heard of AIDA, then it feels like years. Hours, days, weeks bleeding together like colors, mixing into an indefinable inkblot of time.

Reflexively, Jemma’s hand shoots up to catch a tear jumping from her eyelashes, rolling down her cheek. She presses her lips into a thin line, trying to keep from crying, and forces herself to step forward, her eyes meandering through the room.

Jemma exhales a shaky breath as she bends down to pick up the three wise monkeys with her trembling hand. She covers her mouth with her free hand, trying to stifle the sob escaping her lips. She gasps and yet feels like her lungs are deprived of oxygen.

“What are you doing?”

Jemma turns around in surprise and looks up at Daisy, who is standing by the door, a duffle bag hanging over her shoulder. Slowly, Jemma gets up, pressing the little statuette against her chest. Her lips quiver but she can’t bring herself to speak.

“We don’t have much time, Jemma,” Daisy remarks calmly, taking a step closer. “They’re catching up to us. Coulson said to pack the essentials, some extra clothes, and get out of here.”

Jemma gestures with her chin in the direction of Daisy’s bag. “So you’re telling me you don’t have your Hawaiian doll and a picture of Lincoln in there?”

One corner of Daisy’s mouth ticks up briefly into an acknowledging smile.

“This is what’s left of our life, Daisy.” Jemma shakes her head, her voice wavering with each syllable, as she fights against more tears. “I can’t just grab some clothes and leave all this. It’d be like leaving him behind.”

She closes her eyes, swallowing hard, as more tears roll down her cheeks, before she forces herself to look back at Daisy. “I can’t do that. I’ll never do that.”

Daisy sighs, letting her bag slide off her shoulder. “Alright, Simmons, put me to work.”

Jemma grimaces, torn between wanting to smile and cry with gratitude. She lifts her head towards the picture of space lying on the floor. “It’s one of Fitz’s most prized possessions. Think you could roll it up?”

Daisy nods, a hint of a teasing smile playing on her lips. “You’re the boss.”

She walks to the picture and bends down, using her powers to quake away the glass splinters before removing the poster from its frame.

Jemma sniffles, before opening the bottom drawer to their dresser to retrieve a large duffle bag. Carefully, she places the three wise monkeys inside. She begins with the dresser, packing up the photographs of her and Fitz, their two Tardis, some extra clothes. She moves on to their closet, grabbing some pants, dress shirts, and extra shoes, before heading to the bathroom.

She gasps when she sees the empty little tray on which she’s always kept the earrings and necklace Fitz had given her. Slowly, her hand glides into her pocket and a pained smile flashes across her face when she feels the intricate precious metal pieces. She pulls out her hand, looking at the earrings and necklace in her palm.

Fitz’s LMD had taken them off when he’d scanned her brain. And when she and Fitz had come up with their plan to use Jemma’s LMD as bait for AIDA, and they’d scoured the base until they’d found the prototype that Fitz’s LMD must have hidden, the first thing Jemma had done was remove the necklace and earrings from her robot-look-alike. The thought of someone or something trying to take what belonged to her was too hard to bear after everything that had happened. But things had been so hectic that she’d only stuffed the necklace and earrings into her pocket rather than putting them back on.

Jemma’s thumb glides over the pendant, which becomes blurry in front of her tear-filled eyes as she remembers how Fitz had explained to her the meaning behind the charm; how it was inspired by the sea and the cosmos, two things that had almost torn them apart, but how it also symbolized that there was always a big bright star shining amongst the darkness. Jemma lets go of the bag in her other hand and carefully puts both the necklace and the earrings back on. When she closes the clasp of the necklace and looks at her reflection in the mirror, it’s almost as if she can see Fitz standing behind her, a faint memory of how he’d helped put it on only a few months ago, his fingers resting on her shoulders as he’d smiled at her before leaning down to kiss her neck.

“Jemma?” Daisy calls quietly from the main room, ripping Jemma back into reality.

She turns around, wiping away the thin watery trails of tears on her cheeks, and sees Daisy’s head appear in the door.

“We should really be going,” Daisy adds, looking almost apologetic.

“I know.” Jemma nods. “Just one more thing.”

She picks up her bag from the floor and walks past Daisy out of the bathroom and to Fitz’s nightstand. Absentmindedly, she leans down and opens the drawer, knowing exactly where he’s always kept the picture of him and his mum. But when her eyes catch sight of it, it’s like the world once again stops around her. She falls to her knees, her legs unable to support her any longer. She holds on to the edge of the drawer as tears stream down her face and her body shakes with sobs.

“Jemma?” Daisy’s concerned voice echoes somewhere in the room and a moment later Jemma feels her friend’s comforting hand on her back.

“Shit,” Jemma hears Daisy mumble quietly.

* * *

“So, what now?” Elena asks, her voice low so as not to wake Jemma.

Except Jemma is not actually asleep. She’s lying on the hotel bed, curled up on one side, her back to her friends and colleagues, too exhausted to participate, but nonetheless listening in on their hushed whispers as she stares at her closed hand.

“We move around frequently, try to keep one step ahead of them, try to find allies,” May declares.

“Exactly,” Coulson agrees. “Whoever took Fitz clearly had a special deal going with whoever’s after us, because I’m willing to bet my non-robot hand that whoever is after us wanted Fitz as much as the rest of us.” He scoffs. “We almost have to be thankful that Fitz’s abductors gave us a chance to get away rather than marching in there hand in hand with whomever is chasing us now.”

“So what about Turbo?”

“Right now we don’t have the resources to look for him,” Coulson replies matter-of-factly. “But we’ll figure something out. Suggestions welcome.”

Jemma closes her eyes, feeling a tear jump off her eyelashes and drop onto the pillow.

“And she really didn’t know?” Elena asks, her voice laced with sadness.

“I think maybe she knew something. Had a feeling at least,” Daisy replies quietly. “But there’s a difference between thinking and knowing. And it hit her hard. Pulled the rug from under her feet. And there wasn’t much rug left to begin with.”

A pained smile flashes across Jemma’s face. Slowly, she opens her hand and stares at the intricately crafted ring in her palm. The others are still so focused on their conversation that they don’t notice her grabbing it carefully and sliding it onto her finger.

It fits perfectly.

She pulls her hand closer to her face and places a gentle kiss onto the small diamond, before closing her eyes to drift off to sleep.

They may have pulled the rug from under her, but it was time to get back up.

_Time to rest. Time to gather your strength, Jemma._

She wouldn’t leave him behind.

She’d never leave him behind.

She’d never give up.

The cosmos be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you there would be more pain. But it'll get better. Hang in there.


	5. What you got they can’t steal it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @dilkirani for another beta

Fitz’s best guess is that it has been four days, based on times he’s actually had access to a clock in the lab, estimated beard growth, and his increasingly developing stench. Apparently, personal hygiene isn’t particularly high on A.I.M.’s list of priorities, at least not when it comes to their No. 1 prisoner. At least, Fitz assumes that’s what he is.

His days always start out the same: his father arrives with Willson and O’Clery towering next to him, their weapons held in front of them like trophies, and Svensen behind them, clutching a tablet to his chest. Then Fitz is taken to his mother. Fitz knows all too well that his father doesn’t do it as a gesture of goodwill or out of the goodness of his heart. It isn’t meant to reassure him that his mother is alright, unharmed. It’s meant as a threat, a constant Sword of Damocles hanging over him, ready to fall down and sever his head if he doesn’t comply with A.I.M.’s wishes.

His mood has improved slightly though, ever since he’d come up with a plan after seeing Svensen’s watch. It had reminded him of his own (which AIDA had taken from him when she... it had captured them), which reminded him of…

They’re keeping a close eye on him of course, so progress has been slow, his father’s watch dogs with their eyes constantly fixed on him, and Svensen standing next to him looking over his shoulder like some kind of bloody wannabe apprentice.

He’d started working on some projects to keep up the pretense, to be able to show his father and his A.I.M. superiors some results. His hands tremble each time he hands Alistair Fitz a prototype he’s completed. He’d started with the little things of course. Protective devices rather than inventions that could be weaponized, but, nonetheless, the memory of how something he’d helped built had been perverted into something that hurt, something that killed, something that destroyed and threatened the people he cared about… the memory was too fresh to simply be pushed aside.

Yet, the ever-looming fear of knowing his father wouldn’t hesitate to hurt his Mum to make him comply is enough motivation to keep going, to keep giving A.I.M. what they want, and to keep working on his plan to rescue his Mum and himself.

And he’d quickly figured out that he’s not the only one with an indoctrinated fear of his father. Eventually he’d use it to his advantage. In fact, by now he quite enjoys it.

* * *

“Could you get me a cup of tea?” Fitz puts down his tools and lifts his magnifying glasses off his eyes, before turning to Svensen, who’s once again hovering way too close for Fitz’s comfort level.

Svensen straightens up, looking at Fitz in mild confusion. “What?”

“A cup of tea?” Fitz repeats, taking off his gloves and taking a step to the side to the laptop. “Earl Grey, if you have it. English Breakfast would do, too.”

Fitz begins typing to call up the designs for the prototype he’s working on, trying his best to hide the grin that wants to creep to the surface as he awaits Svensen’s reply.

“I… I told you, I’m a scientist,” Svensen’s voice pipes up, lacking any sign of confidence. “I… I’m here to keep an eye on your progress.”

Fitz turns slightly to the side, placing one hand on his hip. “The way I remember it, my father said that you’re here to assist me in any way I need.”

“Yes, but—”

“And right now I need tea.” Fitz stares at the scrawny, pasty man in front of him. If he weren’t such an obviously corrupt tool working for A.I.M., Svensen would almost remind Fitz of a younger version of himself.

“But—” Svensen tries to interject half-heartedly.

Fitz gestures towards the sliding doors. “Or I can check in with my father to see if he can clarify your responsibilities for me.”

Svensen swallows, putting his tablet down on the work bench and forcing a panicked smile. “Of course. Yes, Doctor Fitz.”

He turns around and heads for the door.

“Splash of cream, two sugars. Thank you,” Fitz calls after him, and through the corners of his eyes he can see Willson and O’Clery exchanging smug grins.

“Nice to see you coming around, Doc.” O’Clery approvingly lifts his chin in Fitz’s direction.

“Yeah,” Willson agrees. “Your father will be proud knowing you’re working so hard on that stuff and showing those rugrats who’s the boss.”

Fitz swallows for a moment, trying to keep his voice confident as he replies. “It’s Doctor Fitz.”

Willson and O’Clery demonstratively shoulder their weapons, but don’t reply.

Fitz leans forward, briefly glancing to all sides to ensure that he’s set up the laptop so that the screen isn’t caught by any of the security cameras.

He’d spent every moment since his capture slowly hacking his way into their system. His skills aren’t quite on par with Daisy’s but during Svensen’s last bathroom break, he’d finally managed to establish a secure line that should allow him to run his program.

His eyes wander to the unsuspecting flat silver disk next to the laptop. He needed to test that the program worked before—

Fitz takes another peek at Willson, O’Clery, and the still closed sliding doors and quickly enters the final command. The map zooms in on North Brother Island in New York City, a red little dot flashing on the screen in what appears to be the basement of an abandoned building. Somewhere in the back of his head he remembers Professor Vaughn mentioning that A.I.M. was rumored to have a base in the Bronx.

Carefully, Fitz grabs the flat silver disk and slips it into his front pocket. At least now he knows where he is and that the tracker works. Phase 1 completed. His eyes wander back to Willson and O’Clery, then to the clock above the entrance door. Svensen had been gone for a while now, but maybe Fitz had time to—

The doors slide open and Svensen rushes in, carrying a cup by the handle and the other hand wrapped around the surface to keep the tea from spilling over. Judging by his pained expression, the drink is piping hot.

“Earl Grey, two sugars, splash of milk,” he announces, forcing a fake smile as he takes the few final steps to Fitz’s workbench.

“Took you long enough,” Fitz grumbles, as his fingers quickly move over the keyboard to conceal his program and return to the prototype he’d been working on before Svensen had left.

He glances up, noticing Svensen’s disgruntled look and can’t stop himself from adding, “Hope it’s not already cold.”

He takes the cup from Svensen, whose lips are still ticked up into the fakest of polite smiles, blows on the hot tea and takes a hesitant sip.

* * *

“A sandwich?”

Fitz almost takes pride in the fact that with each errand he’s come up with for his ‘assistant,’ Svensen’s voice has gotten more high-pitched.

Fitz nods, trying to turn his teasing grin into a friendly smile. “I’m a bit peckish, yes.”

“But—” Svensen stares at him wide-eyed, and for a moment Fitz feels a wave of guilt washing over him, before he reminds himself who these men around him and their goals are.

He places both hands on his hips, facing Svensen head-on. “Seriously? We have to go over the same argument every time? You think my father and your superiors would prefer I continue working on this force field or that I faint due to low blood sugar?”

There it is again: Svensen’s fake smile of defeat.

“Anything in particular you’d like on your sandwich, Doctor?”

Fitz ignores the way the hairs on his arms stand up immediately at the mention of his title, but for his purposes, he needs the respect that comes with it. “Prosciutto and mozzarella, if you have any. With some pesto.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Svensen turns around and heads for the door.

“Not too heavy on the pesto though! Just a hint!” Fitz calls after him, once again unable to stop a triumphant grin from flashing across his face. His eyes wander to Willson and O’Clery, who are smiling widely.

“Not a word,” Fitz mutters, and their expressions somber immediately.

As before, Fitz makes sure that the security cameras don’t catch the laptop screen before he returns to his program. When he sees the map zoom in on a motel room in Washington D.C. and the little red dot flashes on the screen, he can’t stop an excited “Yes!” from escaping his lips.

“What?” Willson asks grumpily, his voice laced with suspicion. “What are you so excited about?”

Fitz looks up, his heart suddenly racing anxiously in his chest. He exhales sharply, hoping it’ll come across as a condescending scoff.

“What? You’ve never gotten excited about a scientific breakthrough?” Fitz asks sternly, staring challengingly at his guards. His mood is far better than it maybe should be, and yet he has to try and hide the tears in his eyes. “Suppose that’s not surprising. All muscle, no brain.”

“Hey,” Willson exclaims, taking an angry step forward. But O’Clery grabs his shoulder and pulls him back.

“Remember what the boss said,” he reminds his colleague, and Willson begrudgingly steps back to his original position.

Fitz quickly wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand before returning his attention back to the screen. Hopefully it would take Svensen long enough to make his sandwich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, chapter count went up by one ;)


	6. No they can’t even feel it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! Finally an update!
> 
> Big thank you to @dilkirani for betaing even on vacation.

May leans against the wall next to the door to their motel suite, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She peeks out through the curtains for the sixth time within the past thirty seconds, before letting her eyes wander across the room.

Elena and Mack are sitting next to each other at the small table, their hands forming a little stack, their heads leaning close to each other as they talk barely above a whisper. Phil is sitting on the office chair, his legs propped up on the table, flipping through channels. At least that’s what it looks like. May knows him well enough to know that he’s really figuring out their next step. They’d been on the run for almost five days now, never spending more than two nights at the same place. Tomorrow, they’ll head to the next hotel.

May clenches her jaw. Something about the whole thing doesn’t sit quite right with her. She can sense that Phil knows something, knows who’s after them and why. She can’t shake the feeling that the whole thing with the LMDs is nothing more than an excuse, an opportunity to put a plan into action that’s been in the works far longer than that. She’d have to find a quiet moment soon to talk to him and find out the truth.

May sighs quietly, looking over to where Simmons and Daisy are sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, each with a laptop resting on their laps. Simmons’ right hand operates the keyboard and trackpad while her left alternates between nervously playing with the necklace around her neck, her earrings, and the ring on her finger. Right now, the scientist’s eyes are fixed on the screen, while she carefully seems to nibble on the small diamond on her left ring finger.

“You’ve stared at this footage for days now, Simmons,” Daisy says, a hint of defeat in her tone.

“We’re missing something,” Simmons replies quietly, never taking her eyes off the screen.

“Yeah, we’re missing the real footage,” Daisy mumbles, typing vigorously on her laptop. “They’ve deleted all files and replaced them. We know that much.”

Simmons doesn’t seem fazed. “Maybe if we expand the radius around the diner. Take another look at flight data. Radar. Satellite footage.”

Daisy sighs, glancing at Simmons, who’s too focused to even notice. “We’ve expanded the radius, Jemma. Multiple times. We’ve looked at the flight data for every airfield within a five _hundred_ mile radius. We’ve checked radar. We’ve checked satellites. They knew what they were doing. They’re good.”

Simmons’ head shoots up. She draws in a shaky breath, staring at Daisy, her eyes blinking rapidly. She clears her throat and looks back at her screen, stretching and contracting her fingers a few times before beginning to type again. “Yes, well, we’re better.”

Daisy presses her lips into a thin line. Her eyes linger on Simmons for a moment longer, before returning to her laptop. “Well, you are the boss after all.”

One corner of May’s mouth briefly ticks up into a half-smile. When she’d met these two women, she’d considered them kids, unfit for the field, an annoyance. But now, she can’t help but feel a mix of pride over how far they’d come, and sadness to think of what they’d gone through to get to where they are today. About five days ago, Simmons had broken down on the diner floor, announcing to the world that she and Fitz were cursed. Hours later when they’d left their old base behind and settled into their first hotel room, she’d seemed hopeless, drained of all energy. The rug had been pulled from under her, Daisy had said. And yet, the next day, the English scientist got back up with a vengeance and fiery determination.

May sighs, her eyes once again wandering in Phil’s direction, who seems highly focused on a synchronized swimming competition on TV.

_Yeah, right._

May pushes herself off the wall, taking one step in Phil’s direction

_Enough is enough._

She manages to cross half the distance to Phil when three loud knocks on the door make her freeze. She’d forgotten to keep an eye on the window.

_Dammit, Melinda._

“Delivery!” a young, male, and overly chipper voice announces loudly.

Everyone’s heads simultaneously look up, then at the door and finally at each other.

“Anyone order food?” Mack asks, squinting his eyes in doubt.

“When would we have done that?” Simmons scoffs, and May’s surprised she even bothered looking up from her laptop at all.

“Trap?” Daisy asks, her eyes wandering from one person to the next.

Phil takes his feet off the desk, turns off the TV, and gets up. “Trust me. I have a hunch as to who’s after us and they’re more the break down the door with a battering ram kinda people.”

May glances at Phil through the corners of her eyes.

_A hunch? Well, surprise._

“Hello?” the cheerful voice sings. “Delivery!”

May takes another look at everyone in the room. Jemma’s already focusing back on her laptop, everyone else is shrugging and pursing their lips. May lets out a disgruntled groan, rolling her eyes and taking the few steps to the door, swinging it open. “What?”

The pimply guy in his late teens with a black baseball cap and polo shirt sporting some kind of company logo stares at her wide-eyed and dumbstruck, the large bouquet in his left hand and the tablet in his right trembling for a moment.

“Umm.” He clears his throat, forcing a smile, his eyes darting down to his tablet and back up again. “I… I got flowers for a Jane Alferov.”

“Wrong place.” May tries to slam the door shut, when Phil’s voice suddenly makes her stop.

“Hold on a sec.”

May turns her head, squinting in Phil’s direction, who has appeared next to her, pointing at the delivery guy.

“What was the name?” Phil asks.

The delivery guy seems to relax slightly, taking another look at the tablet in his hand. “Jane Alferov.”

“I’ll sign for them.”

Phil waves his fingers towards himself, and the delivery guy hands over his tablet in mild confusion.

May keeps her eyes fixed on her friend and colleague. “Phil?”

“Trust me.” Phil glances in May’s direction before handing the tablet back to the delivery guy. He takes the flowers and pulls out a five-dollar bill for a tip from his back pocket, handing it to the guy, who grins widely before heading to his car.

Phil reaches past May and closes the door, ignoring May’s questioning look and taking a few steps towards the bed.

“Jemma.”

“What?” Simmons asks, full of annoyance, her eyes fixed on the screen.

“I believe these are for you.”

Slowly, Simmons lifts her head and her eyes double in size when she sees the bouquet of asters.

Phil extends his hands in Simmons’ direction. “Your favorite Nobel physicist is Zhores Alferov, isn’t it, J. Anne?”

May can’t stop a little smile from flashing across her face.

_Should have known. Can’t deny he’s good._

Simmons’ lips twitch nervously and her hands tremble as she accepts the flowers from Phil, her eyes shimmering behind a sudden curtain of tears. “They’re my favorite flowers.”

Daisy looks at Phil from where she’s sitting next to Simmons on the bed. “How’d you know her favorite physicist?”

“I pay attention, Daisy. Might wanna try it some time.”

May ignores the disgruntled stare Daisy throws in Phil’s direction and instead watches Simmons as she reads the note attached to the flowers. Her lips are still trembling, and she draws in a stuttering breath, before covering her mouth with her left hand.

“A.I.M.” Simmons eventually mumbles quietly, before her head slowly lifts to look at everyone in the room. “A.I.M. has him. His father is Chief of Security there. And they have his mum as leverage. And—”

She pauses, overwhelmed with what she’s read and needing a moment to compose herself.

Daisy reaches for the note, slowly pulling it from Simmons’ fingers and reading over the text herself. “You got all of that from this? That’s some serious code.”

Simmons looks at her friend, squinting slightly. “Well, you could say we know each other a wee bit, Daisy.”

“Alright. I get it. Question withdrawn.”

“How did he know where to find us?” Elena chimes in.

“He must have found a way to locate my tracker,” Simmons replies matter-of-factly.

“Your whatnow?” Daisy exclaims, shouting out what’s presumably on everyone’s minds.

“The tracker in my necklace and earrings.” Simmons’ tone still suggests that she doesn’t see anything unusual with her statement.

Daisy furrows her brows, staring at Simmons in disbelief. “Are you telling me your boyfriend tagged you like an adopted kitten?”

“Oh, please,” Simmons barks back. “It was a mutual agreement after Fitz got dragged to another dimension at the same time Mace handed me over to Nadeer without any clue as to my actual whereabouts. Fitz and I decided— _together_ —that it would be safer to keep track of each other. So Fitz installed a tracker in my jewelry and his watch.”

“His… his watch?” Daisy’s eyes double in size. “Are you saying that when crazy robot chick abducted all of these guys, and we were trying to locate—?”

May has to suppress a snort, seeing how Simmons’ silent stare is enough to make Daisy reconsider.

“AIDA removed his watch,” Daisy mumbles, apologetically. “Of course. You checked.”

“Of course I checked,” Simmons replies sternly and yet her expression softens somewhat.

Daisy lifts her shoulders slightly, her eyes wandering back to the note in her hand. “So when he says here that he fixed his watch, he means—?”

“He must have found a way to build a new tracker with the exact same—” Simmons falls silent, typing instead vigorously on her laptop.

Everyone’s eyes are focused on the petite English scientist. Suddenly, a smile flashes across her face. She looks up, turning her laptop around so that the majority of the people in the room can see the screen. “He’s in New York City.”

Everyone takes a step closer, taking in the red blinking dot on the map.

“Why the flowers?” Mack asks. “Why not just—?”

Phil tucks his hands in his pockets. “He’s presumably closely watched. Phone call would have been impossible. Even a text would have been risky; easily traceable. But—”

Daisy nods in agreement. “—if you get yourself secure access to the Internet and have decent enough skills, it’s easy to create a fake account and erase your history later on.”

“Plus, flowers are very romantic.”

Everyone stares at Elena, who shrugs nonchalantly.

“¿Qué? I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

Elena’s eyes wander to Simmons, who smiles almost shyly, before looking at the flowers she’d put down next to her. Once again, her thumb starts playing absentmindedly with her engagement ring.

“Not to be a party pooper here, but what if this is a trap?” Daisy glances nervously in Simmons’ direction, whose head shoots up immediately.

“This message clearly came from Fitz. Only he knows about the tracker. Only he could have written the message in a way that I alone would understand it.” Simmons gestures at herself.

Daisy shrugs. “What if they brainwashed him? What if they’re trying to get you to use as leverage to get Fitz to comply? Or what if they’re using him to get to us?”

“No,” Simmons replies firmly.

“Jemma, I love you, but you’re not exactly seeing straight right now and—”

“I’m seeing very straight, Daisy,” Simmons interjects. “If they had brainwashed Fitz, they wouldn’t need me as leverage to get him to comply. He’d be complying quite on his own. And they’re not interested in us. They had all of us in that diner. If they had wanted anyone besides Fitz, they would have taken us right then and there.”

May takes a step forward. “And the fact that they got Fitz and allowed us to get away, means they’re not too concerned about whether the organization that’s after us gets us or not. They got what they wanted: Fitz. They don’t care about the rest. I agree with Simmons. This isn’t a trap. This is Fitz.”

Once again everyone’s eyes wander from person to person, until Elena breaks the silence.

“So, what now?”

Phil reaches for his back pocket and pulls out his phone. “Time to call in some favors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count went up... again. Yep. That's right.


	7. Leave it behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani for the beta!

May’s eyes wander over the group of hunched down people, hiding from view at the backside of the remains of Riverside Hospital on North Brother Island in the Bronx. She looks at Hill, Piper, and a group of at least twenty-five former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents (many now working for Hill), all focused on Phil. May watches Simmons closely as Phil goes over the plan they’d come up with one last time. Simmons straightens her shoulders, readjusting the fit of her bulletproof vest, before pulling on her black gloves. She tightens the grip on her ICER, staring at the two armed guards in front of the high-security sliding door that is entirely out of place compared to the rest of the old, deteriorating building. Simmons’ jaw is clenched and it is clear as day that she’s losing patience.

“Alright, so everyone knows the plan? Everyone knows their role?” Phil looks from person to person.

Everyone nods. Everyone besides Simmons, that is, who probably wasn’t listening in the first place.

May rolls her eyes, glancing sideways at Phil.

_Plan’s gonna go out the window the second you give Daisy the OK to open the door. You should know that, Phil._

“Daisy, the door is all yours.” Phil waves in the direction of the entrance.

Daisy nods, already typing on the laptop resting on her thighs where she’s crouched down.

May can see every muscle in Simmons’ body tighten.

_Here we go._

As soon as the two surprised guards notice that the door behind them has slid open, Simmons jumps up, taking out the two soldiers with two precise shots before walking quickly towards the entrance, her weapon raised and her eyes burning with determination.

“Simmons!” Daisy calls out, dropping the laptop to the floor and running after her friend, one arm stretched out to use her powers and the other clutching an ICER.

“Everyone in. Cover Simmons,” May barks out, straightening up at the same time and following the furious and persistent English scientist. Behind her, she can hear everyone follow suit.

“No one listens to me,” Phil pipes up from behind her, as May enters the building.

She turns her head slightly, giving Phil a questioning look. “You really thought she’d listen.”

Phil shrugs, before shooting one of their adversaries in the distance. “It was a good plan.”

“Yeah, well.” May pauses briefly, firing her gun at an A.I.M. soldier coming through the door next to her. “New plan.”

* * *

Jemma’s ears register the shouts of allies and adversaries alike. They register the bullets from her own gun, and those flying around her from both directions. And yet, she doesn’t hear them.

She doesn’t hear. She doesn’t see. She doesn’t feel or smell or anything.

She’s driven by nothing but instinct and an indescribable force to prove the universe wrong.

She registers a shockwave surging past her and knocking out an oncoming A.I.M. agent. She knows that Daisy’s right there behind her, clearing a path for her.

Daisy. May. Coulson. Mack. Elena. Piper. Hill. And about twenty-five agents.

They’re all there.

She knows it and yet, at the same time, she feels like she doesn’t know anything at all besides the desire to find Fitz.

She turns a corner, her weapon raised in front of her and freezes for a split second as her eyes zoom in on the man strutting towards her with at least five armed guards.

“Shoot he—” Alistair Fitz tries to order his men, before he drops unconscious to the ground moments before his men follow suit.

Jemma can’t quite tell which of them she knocked out herself and which ones those having her back took care of. She keeps walking forward, stopping in front of Alistair’s motionless body. She feels her hand tremble, her eyesight become blurry. She clenches her jaw, tightens every muscle in her body, before icing him two more times.

She thinks she should feel something. Anger. Satisfaction. Guilt. Hate.

But there’s nothing. As if that man were simply not worth her emotions.

Jemma looks up and sees an empty hallway in front of her. Drawing in a deep breath, she walks up to the door at the end. She turns around, staring at Daisy. When her friend nods, she takes a step to the side, waiting for Daisy to quake the door open.

Jemma hears a frightened scream as the metal door flings open and hits the wall with a deafening sound. She rushes inside, her hands raised.

“It’s okay. It’s okay!” she calls out, taking in the heartbreaking view before her.

Aileen’s crouched down in one corner of the cell, her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped protectively around them. Her eyes are wide with shock.

Jemma takes the last few steps towards Fitz’s mum before falling to her knees beside her. Torn between smiling and crying, Jemma reaches forward, pulling a trembling Aileen into her embrace.

“Oh, Jemma, my dear. Oh, Jemma!” Fitz’s mum sobs into her ear, and Jemma can feel her own tears trailing down her cheeks.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she repeats quietly, hugging Aileen even tighter.

“Floor secured. One more to go.”

Jemma cranes her neck to look in the direction from where she’d heard May’s voice. May’s standing next to Daisy, lifting her chin ever so slightly, to silently inquire if Jemma would come or stay with Aileen.

Jemma lets out a shaky breath, her eyes wandering down to the curly-haired woman resting her head against Jemma’s chest.

“You go. We’ll take care of her.”

Jemma’s head shoots back to the door when she hears Mack’s deep voice.

Mack steps past May and Daisy into the cell, with Elena following suit. He ticks his head towards the hallway, smiling encouragingly.

* * *

Fitz looks up when he notices the light flicker from a sudden drop in power. A smile flashes across his face when he hears the first shots one floor up and the urgent calls for backup. At the same time, his heart rate shoots up and his hand begins to tremble slightly.

Willson and O’Clery look at each other in alarm.

“You stay here. I’ll see what the fuss is about,” Willson remarks drily.

O’Clery nods in agreement, even though his jaw is clenched. When the door to the lab slides open and Willson steps outside, they can see one armed agent after the other running down the hallway. Svensen looks like all blood has been drained from his body as he slowly backs away from the door until his bum hits the workbench.

“What’s going on?” he stammers, his voice shaking with fear.

“Hell if I know,” Fitz replies, trying to hide a smirk.

Fitz slowly reaches forward, grabbing the gun he’d been working on. He pulls it towards himself and off the workbench, his eyes fixed on O’Clery. The weapon dangling by his side out of O’Clery’s view, Fitz walks around the table until he stands next to Svensen. Neither of the two A.I.M. agents still in the room seem to have noticed that Fitz has armed himself.

Fitz tightens his grip on the gun, his eyes glancing from O’Clery to Svensen and back. He could probably take out one or the other but maybe not both of the men in the room.

Fitz feels the complex shake briefly.

_Daisy._

He draws in a calming breath, one corner of his mouth ticking up momentarily.

_Just wait, Fitz. Just wait. They’ll be here soon._

The shooting continues, the rushing of heavy footsteps one floor up where his mother’s cell is.

Fitz closes his eyes.

_Please, get to her. Please._

A few minutes later, things upstairs seem to become eerily quiet, while more shots can be heard from the hallway. O’Clery is visibly anxious, tightening his grip on his gun and glancing in Fitz’s and Svensen’s direction, obviously trying to decide whether he should abandon his post to see what’s happening outside the lab.

Suddenly the door slides open. Fitz’s eyes widen when he sees Jemma storm in, her weapon raised. Fitz lifts his gun, aiming at O'Clery, but before he can fire a shot, his guard drops to the floor, hit by Jemma’s ICER. Fitz barely gets a chance to turn his head and look before Svensen drops to the floor too, unconscious from another of Jemma’s bullets.

Jemma drops her gun to the floor as she rushes towards him. Before Fitz can even comprehend everything, she cups his face and presses her lips against his, before her hands slide to wrap around his neck and she buries her head in the crook of his neck. He feels her body shake with sobs as her fingers comb through his hair. He hears his own name whispered into his ear and his body finally relaxes as his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer. He catches a glimpse of Daisy standing in the door, smiling as she lifts her head, barely noticeably, in Fitz’s direction. He mimics her, before closing his eyes and drinking in Jemma’s familiar scent.

He’s not sure how long they stand there in silence, but he’s sure it will never be long enough.

“Jemma,” he whispers, as his hand reaches up to stroke the back of her head, reassuring himself that they're really reunited.

“Turbo.”

It takes Fitz effort to open his eyes when he hears Mack’s voice, but then they widen when he sees his mother, dwarfed next to his friend’s towering height and muscular build. Mack’s hand is resting on Fitz’s mum’s shoulder and there’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips. His mum’s lips, however, twitch nervously, torn between happiness and sorrow. Her hands seem to want to reach out for her son and yet her feet hesitate to step into the room.

“Mum,” Fitz whispers.

Immediately he feels Jemma loosen the tight grip around his neck, craning hers to look towards the door. Her eyes wander back to Fitz and she smiles through a curtain of tears, nodding encouragingly and placing her hand over his heart.

Fitz blinks away his own tears, covering her hand briefly with his before hesitantly letting go of Jemma and giving into the urge to rush to his mother, hugging her tighter than he’d ever hugged her before.

“Oh, my darling boy,” his mum whispers quietly, while his tears soak her shirt.

“I’m sorry, Mum. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He repeats over and over again, tightening his grip around his mother while she soothingly whispers words of comfort into his ear.

“Hill and Piper will take care of cleanup,” Coulson announces. “Let’s get out of here.”

When Fitz lifts his head, he’s surprised to see May looking back at him with warmth in her eyes. He feels a hand on his back and turns halfway around to find Jemma smiling at both him and his mum. He looks at his mum, before his eyes wander back to Jemma and then to everyone else who suddenly seems to have appeared in the hallway. He keeps one arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulders, while his free hand hesitantly reaches for Jemma’s. When her fingers interlace with his, squeezing his hand slightly, Fitz’s heartbeat finally slows down as they walk down the corridor towards the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Feels


	8. Stay safe tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani for another wonderful beta.

They’d been driving for about fifty minutes. Aside from Coulson and May quietly discussing where to head next, nobody has spoken a word in the small van. Coulson is concentrating on driving. May is staring straight ahead or glancing at the side mirror to make sure they’re not being followed. Mack’s looking out the window. Elena’s head is resting on his shoulder and, much like Daisy, she seems to be asleep. Jemma looks to her right. Fitz’s head is leaning against his mother’s and his eyes are closed. He’s holding his mother’s left hand between his, his chest rising and falling steadily. They both look so peaceful that Jemma can’t help but smile at the sight while her eyes become slightly misty.

She sniffs and, unable to resist the urge, reaches up to briefly comb her fingers through Fitz’s curls. He doesn’t even stir. Another smile flashes across Jemma’s face when she remembers how he’d glanced in her direction earlier, the corners of his mouth barely ticked up . His eyes had been a strange mix of love, sadness, hesitation, hope, and fear. It had simultaneously warmed Jemma’s heart and broken it. But each time Jemma’s lips had pulled into a little smile almost by reflex whenever he’d looked at her, his eyes seemed to grow more hopeful, which in turn mended Jemma’s heart little by little.

Jemma stares at her hand, her fingers still half-buried in Fitz’s curls. She’s still wearing the black tact gloves, and it’s only now she notices how sweaty her palm feels. Jemma traces Fitz’s jawline, feeling his thicker than usual beard, before letting her hand drop back into her lap. Slowly she turns both hands front to back a few times, then pulls off the gloves. She draws in a surprised breath when she sees the ring on her finger. Nervously, she looks back at Fitz, who’s still asleep, before her eyes wander back to the ring. Thoughtfully, she covers her left hand with her right, squeezing it gently, feeling the diamond against her palm.

_How exactly do you tell your boyfriend that you’ve accepted his proposal when he’s never asked you?_

* * *

“Alright, we’ll get the rooms sorted. Don’t wander off too far,” Coulson announces, before turning around and heading to the reception desk with May.

“I need some coffee,” Elena remarks as soon as Coulson and May are out of earshot. “You comin’, Turtleman?”

Mack scoffs, but can’t hide a grin. “Told you not to call me that.”

Jemma watches them leave arm in arm, when Aileen’s quiet voice pipes up.

“I think I’m going to find the ladies’ room.”

“I’ll come with you. Had to pee since before we left that damn island,” Daisy adds, lifting her head in Jemma’s direction, before placing her hand on Aileen’s back and guiding her in the direction of the restrooms.

Jemma turns to look at Fitz. His eyes are fixed on his mum, and he anxiously presses his thumb into the palm of his hand.

Jemma sighs, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. Quietly, she clears her throat. “If you prefer your own room, I’m sure Coulson can make that work.”

“Wha—?” Fitz’s head shoots around, his eyes wide, and Jemma can’t tell if he simply didn’t hear her or if he’s surprised by her suggestion.

Jemma draws in a shaky breath. “I just… I would understand if you preferred not to share a room, is all.”

His gaze falls to the ground and he bites his lip before lifting his head to look at her sideways. “Would you… prefer—?”

“No,” Jemma blurts without hesitation, shaking her head vigorously. Her vision blurs as her eyes fill with tears. “No, definitely not.”

Fitz nods shyly, exhaling a breath of relief. “Good,” he mutters, barely above a whisper. “Me neither.”

Then his eyes wander once again towards the restrooms, before returning to Jemma. “It’s just, I—”

“You worry about her.”

His head bobs up and down in confirmation and he exhales a quiet “Yeah.”

A smile flashes across Jemma’s face and she shrugs ever so slightly. “Maybe Coulson could—”

“Alright, got a two-bedroom suite for you.”

Both Fitz and Jemma simultaneously turn their heads to stare in surprise at Coulson and the keycard in his hand. He and May seem to have appeared out of nowhere.

Coulson gestures expectantly with the room key between Fitz and Jemma. “Is that gonna work for you two and your mom?”

Jemma looks at Fitz and can’t help but smile shyly. She slowly bats her eyes once, and the corner of Fitz’s mouth twitches before he clears his throat, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, yeah, that’ll work,” Fitz replies, taking the keycard from Coulson.

“Excellent.” Coulson looks left and right. “Now where are the others?”

* * *

Jemma pokes absentmindedly at a piece of chicken on her plate. Everyone had retreated to their respective rooms. Once they’d settled into their suite, Jemma had suggested ordering room service and both Fitz and his mum had agreed. Dinner had been silent, everyone’s eyes focused on their food rather than on the people sitting next to them.

Jemma’s left hand rests on her lap, hidden from view. Her thumb snakes through between her middle and ring finger, playing with the small diamond on her engagement ring. It had become a habit over the past few days and she’s unable to stop. Jemma’s not sure if Fitz had noticed the ring by now. If he has, he hasn’t shown it in any way. But then again, he’s been so focused on everything else or maybe trying to focus on nothing at all that chances are high he simply hasn’t seen it.

Jemma brings the fork to her mouth and begins chewing the cold piece of chicken. She stares at her side salad, which becomes a blurry, shapeless blob of green, red, and orange as her eyes slowly glaze over.

“Mum.”

Jemma’s heart jumps in surprise when Fitz speaks up. She lifts her head and sees him looking straight ahead at his plate, while his eyes nervously dart to the side where Aileen is sitting. Jemma feels like she’s stopped moving, breathing, even existing.

“Do you think—?” Fitz starts quietly. Aileen patiently gazes back at her son as he struggles to formulate a question that seems to be burning into his soul.

Fitz exhales sharply, his eyes briefly glancing in Jemma’s direction before returning to his mother. “Would it be okay if we—?”

Once again, he stops himself, clearing his throat. “I would really like to—There are a lot of things I would like to talk to you about. You think you’re up for that?”

A smile flashes across Aileen’s face, which Jemma thinks must mimic the one spreading across her own. Fitz’s mum reaches across the table to cover her son’s hand with hers, squeezing it gently. “Of course, my dear.”

Fitz’s free hand shoots up, quickly wiping away a tear snaking down his cheek. He nods ever so slightly, before slowly turning to look at Jemma, his eyes hesitant to meet hers. “Would you mind—?”

The corners of Jemma’s lips pull up a little wider. “I was going to take a shower. I’ll give you two some privacy.”

Fitz’s eyes light up and for a moment he holds Jemma’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he replies, barely above a whisper.

Jemma pushes her seat back to stand up, her right hand instinctively wrapping around and squeezing her left, as her eyes wander to her half-finished plate.

“We’ll take care of cleanup. Don’t you worry ‘bout that,” Aileen remarks, smiling with gratitude.

“Thank you, Aileen.”

Jemma quickly pulls out some fresh clothes from her bag and heads for the en-suite bathroom, throwing one last glance at Fitz and his mother before closing the door behind herself. She leans her back against the door, closing her eyes and letting tears of relief rush down her cheeks before wiping them away, blinking a few more times, and straightening up. She exhales a cleansing breath and walks over to the bathtub, turning on the water and letting the water run over her hand to test its temperature.

Jemma takes her time in the shower. It’s a wonderful sensation, letting the hot water run down her body, feeling it tickle her skin ever so slightly, smelling the scent of the hotel’s complimentary shampoo. It seems like it has been ages since she’s actually enjoyed a shower; enjoyed it rather than considering it a necessity, an annoyance almost. It feels cleansing in more ways than one. It seems easier to breathe this time around, easier to relax, even though the fear of waking up only to find she’s once again alone lingers in the back of her mind.

When Jemma steps back into the main room, dressed in grey sweatpants and a simple t-shirt, her damp hair leaving wet spots on the thin fabric, she finds that the room service cart and their plates have disappeared. The room is empty, the door to the adjoining room closed. She can hear Fitz’s voice, his tone rather, quiet, unintelligible words spoken on the other side of the wall. A smile flashes across her face and she walks to her bag, grabbing her tablet and sitting down with it on the bed.

* * *

Jemma’s eyes have trouble focusing, sleep trying to grab a hold of her. She suppresses a yawn and glances at the clock on her tablet. It’s almost 2 a.m. She draws in a slow, deep breath and shakes her head, trying to wake herself up some more, when she notices the door to the other room open slowly.

Fitz pauses for a moment before quietly closing the door behind himself. He presses his lips into a thin line, tucking his hands into his pockets and letting his gaze drop to the floor. He taps the floor with the tip of his shoe nervously, seemingly rooted to the spot.

“You didn’t have to stay up,” he remarks quietly.

The corners of Jemma’s lips twitch up briefly, and unlike him, she can’t take her eyes off him.

“I know,” she replies, just as softly. “But I wanted to.”

He lifts his head and the gratefulness emanating from his eyes radiates straight to Jemma’s heart.

“How’d it go?” Jemma asks.

Fitz furrows his eyebrows, nodding ever so slightly. Once again, his eyes wander to the floor. “Good, I think.”

He takes a step forward, his hands still buried in his pockets. “We talked a lot. Well… I talked a lot. She listened.” He scoffs lightly. “We both cried a lot. It was hard, but… but it felt good.”

Jemma smiles. “Good. I’m glad.”

Fitz shrugs, taking another step closer to the bed. “Then we just sat in silence for a while. And at some point, I noticed she’d fallen asleep.”

Fitz gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “Before that, I… I told her though that… that if she needs anything or—”

Jemma nods in understanding. “Yes. Yes, of course.” She lets out a deep sigh. “And I would have understood if you’d decided to stay with her tonight. I hope you know that.”

Fitz bobs his head, scratching the back of his neck at the same time. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, but… but she’ll be alright. She’s strong, and I… I wanted to be—”

He falls silent but his eyes pierce into Jemma’s soul with what feels like a hundred unanswered questions and a hundred pleading thoughts.

“I’m glad.” Jemma can’t help but smile. “And you’re strong, too.”

Fitz chuckles sadly, his eyes wandering back to the ground.

“You are, Fitz,” Jemma reassures him. “And you’ll be alright. Just like her.”

Fitz clears his throat, nodding slightly before looking up. His fingers once again curl around the back of his neck, massaging it. “No. I… I know. Actually. It’s… it’s strange.”

He presses his thumb into his palm, shrugs briefly. “In a way I have to thank that bloody bastard, ‘cause when I saw him and when he asked me to work for—”

Fitz pauses, shaking his head in disbelief. “They just assumed they could turn me into the person I was in the… in the Framework. They thought that was a part of me, and if they tried the right strategy—”

The sound that escapes his lips is somewhere between a whimper and a sad laugh. “But instead they made me realize I’m not. I’m not that person, even though that person is a part of me. I’m not. And I never will be. No matter what, I will never choose to become that person. So, I may still have those memories and… and they—”

His lips quiver and he closes his eyes briefly, before wiping away a stray tear with the back of his hand and letting out a cleansing breath. “They hurt, but… but I think… I _know_ that wasn’t me. Not really. Those weren’t my choices. Those were his, the Doctor’s and—”

He shrugs, a shy smile flashing across his face. “And that’s not me. So, yeah, I’ll be alright. Eventually.”

Jemma can’t stop her lips from pulling into a wide smile, but it fades when she sees his nervous expression, his gaze once again lowering, avoiding her eyes.

“But what about us?” he whispers, before hesitantly lifting his eyes to look at her. “Are we going to be alright?”

Jemma’s lips part in surprise and she tilts her head to one side, blinking away tears.

“Oh, Fitz,” she exclaims quietly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, getting up and walking quickly over to where he’s standing. She reaches up to gently press her hand against his cheek, and the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile. “We already are.”

His eyes are tear-rimmed and when he whispers her name, clearly doubting her statement, it’s almost inaudible.

“No, Fitz.” Jemma brings her other hand up to cup his face, making sure he can’t avoid her eyes this time. “I know we have a lot of things to talk about and work through, both as individuals and as a couple, but we are… we _are_ alright.”

His lips twitch into the hint of a smile and he exhales a shaky breath as his trembling fingers wrap around her left hand, which is still pressed against his cheek. His thumb glides reassuringly back and forth across her fingers, when his expression suddenly changes, his body stiffens.

Jemma furrows her brows, unsure of what has him so startled. It’s not until Fitz slowly removes her hand from his cheek, turning it slightly, staring at the engagement ring on her finger that her brain catches up and her heart begins beating rapidly.

His thumb carefully rubs back and forth over the diamond, and Jemma can see his eyes fill with tears. He looks up without saying a word and yet Jemma knows the question burning on his mind. She forces a smile, struggling to hold back tears.

“We went back to the Playground, after the diner, to grab some things.” Jemma chuckles sadly. “Coulson probably meant some extra clothes, but… but I couldn’t just leave everything behind. All our things. Our lives.”

_You_ , she thinks, but doesn’t dare say it aloud.

Jemma turns her head, looking at the duffle bag and rolled-up poster on the floor. “Daisy helped me pack. It’s all there. Some extra clothes. Your tardis. Your monkey statue. Your picture of space.”

She feels Fitz tighten the grip on her hand, his thumb once again gliding over the engagement ring. When she looks back at him, his eyes are letting her know he’s still waiting for an explanation.

Jemma presses her lips together to keep from crying at the memory. She draws in a shaky breath to compose herself. “I went to your nightstand to get the picture of you and your mum, because I know how much it means to you and… and that’s when I found it.”

Fitz’s tear-rimmed eyes wander to the ring, his expression thoughtful as his thumb rubs the small diamond.

“You’re wearing it,” he murmurs, glancing up at her.

A smile flashes across Jemma’s face, while a few stray tears find their way down her cheek. She sniffs, wiping away the wet trails with her free hand and nodding.

“When I woke up in the diner, and you were gone, I was devastated. I couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. I screamed. I screamed at the bloody cosmos. I threw things. I threw a full coffee cup, can you believe it? And… and then I broke down. I thought that maybe you were right after all, and we really are cursed.”

A weak chuckle escapes Fitz’s lips. “That makes two of us then.”

“And when I found the ring—” Jemma continues, once again fighting back tears. “—I broke down again, because… because… well—”

She draws in a stuttering breath, wiping away more tears, unable to finish her thoughts.

“Jemma,” he whispers, his eyes full of sorrow.

Jemma forces a smile, shaking her head. “No, but… but the longer I stared at it, the better I felt.”

Fitz furrows his brows in slight confusion.

“Because I looked at it and I could see it. I could see everything we could have. I could see our future. I could see us getting married. Me in a wedding dress. You in a kilt.”

Fitz laughs, genuinely amused. “A kilt?”

Jemma can’t help but chuckle as well, nodding in confirmation. “Yes. You looked quite dashing.”

She wets her lips, sighing deeply. “I could see our wedding. Our home. A little cottage somewhere nice and green and beautiful.”

His eyes sparkle happily and a gentle, almost teasing smile plays on his lips, as he whispers, “Perthshire, maybe?”

“Maybe.” Jemma grins back at him, scrunching her nose. His features become blurry before her eyes as more tears find their way to the surface. “And I saw you, in the yard, playing with our children. A boy and a girl, so cliché.”

Jemma chuckles quietly, before clearing her throat. “I saw everything. I saw the future I wanted in this ring, and so I slid it on and it gave me determination I made a vow to myself and to you that I would fight for that future and I would fight for the man I love. No matter what. No matter what and no matter how many times the cosmos tries to meddle with us, I would fight and not give up.”

“And you didn’t,” Fitz whispers quietly, a smile playing on his lips that Jemma can’t help but mimic.

“And I didn’t,” she confirms.

“Made it months ago,” he mumbles absentmindedly, his thumb now gliding over the shiny silver metal of the twisted double-helix the band is made of. “It’s our DNA strings.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Fitz chuckles quietly, his eyes fixed on the ring. “I wanted to wait until Daisy came back. But then, everything got so—”

He falls silent for a moment before scoffing briefly, his gaze wandering back to Jemma. “Although maybe that was just an excuse, with Daisy. Part of me… part of me thought maybe you wouldn’t—” He shrugs shyly. “I was too afraid to ask.”

Jemma’s lips pull into a wide smile. “Well, now you don’t have to.”

Fitz lets out a little laugh, but something about his expression remains thoughtful and hesitant. “You sure about this?”

Jemma frees the hand he’s been holding onto, cupping his face and gazing straight into his eyes. “Yes, Fitz. I’m sure. We’ve been doing this ‘in good times and bad’ thing for years, since before we even started dating. Might as well make it official, don’t you think?”

Fitz chuckles, his eyes filling with tears as his hands slowly slide around the small of Jemma’s back, pulling her closer. “I love you.”

Jemma presses her lips into a thin line, torn between smiling and crying in relief. Her thumbs glide across the soft skin below Fitz’s eyes, wiping away the tears that have managed to jump off his lashes. “I know. I know, Fitz, and I love you, too. I love you so much.”

She notices how both their breaths become faster, more anxious, how his eyes dart to her mouth only to gaze back into her eyes, asking for permission. She smiles before pulling him closer, gently pressing her lips against his. There’s something unfamiliar about how soft his beard feels, having grown far longer than Jemma had ever seen it; unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, not unwanted. Quite the opposite. The kiss feels like water following a drought, their needy bodies, their souls drinking in each other’s presence and love. It’s soft and hesitant and rejuvenating all at once. Jemma parts her lips, and when their tongues meet for the first time in what feels like half a lifetime (and maybe even _is_ half a lifetime in Fitz’s jumbled memories), the energy rushing through her body becomes almost too much to bear.

Part of her is relieved when Fitz breaks their kiss, breathlessly leaning his forehead against Jemma’s.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for… for _that_ ,” he whispers against Jemma’s lips, and Jemma can’t help but chuckle quietly.

She leans back slightly, combing through his curls, gently massaging the back of his skull, a soft smile on her lips. “Me neither.”

One corner of his mouth ticks up slightly, while his hands slowly glide up and down Jemma’s back. “Maybe we should sleep?”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

He looks first at the duffle bag on the floor, then back at Jemma. “You said you—”

“Yes, I packed some pajama bottoms and t-shirts.”

“I’ll just—” Fitz ticks his head in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll just change real quick.”

Jemma smiles, nodding in agreement. “Take your time.”

Fitz draws in a slow breath, his hands pressing more firmly into the small of Jemma’s back as if he were afraid to let go. He leans down, pressing a sweet, short kiss to Jemma’s lips, before letting go of her, walking to the bag to grab some clothes, and heading to the bathroom.

Jemma hears the faucet of the sink turn on as she walks back to the bed, lifting the covers to crawl under them. She leans over, turning on the bedside lamp before switching off the main light. The room is bathed in a dim, golden light. She sits up, her eyes fixed on the bathroom door. Her heart beats loudly in her chest and when the door opens only a few minutes later, she can’t quite tell if it’s beating slower or even more rapidly.

Fitz hesitates for a moment before climbing into bed next to Jemma, but when he raises his arm, inviting her to snuggle up against him, Jemma can’t help but smile as relief washes over her. She rests her head on his chest, placing her hand right next to her face, and both feels and listens to the regular thumping of his heart. His arm wraps around her and slowly the steady rising and falling of his chest syncs with her own rhythm. Jemma closes her eyes, wondering if for once she can forget science and believe that two people can actually become one.

She slowly feels herself drift off to sleep, lulled by Fitz’s steady heartbeat and the way his hand continuously strokes up and down her arm.

“Ophelia—”

Jemma’s eyes shoot open and she feels every hair on her body stand on edge when he says that name. Fitz must have felt her tensing up, because he gives her arm a little reassuring squeeze before continuing to speak.

“She… AIDA manipulated me.”

Somehow the statement lets Jemma relax, allows her to once again close her eyes and listen to his quiet realization.

“She tried to tell me she didn’t, but she did. She put herself in your spot. She introduced herself to me the first day at the Academy. She played a role. Your role. Down to the first birthday gift you gave me. Down to—”

He pauses, taking time to formulate his thoughts.

“She had access to my memories and she used them. She wanted what we have, so she made sure we never met in there. That she became you… It’s… it’s all starting to—”

He shifts, turning his head, and Jemma lifts hers, pushing herself up slightly to look at him.

“I didn’t love her,” Fitz continues, gazing straight into Jemma’s eyes. “That wasn’t me. That was the version of me she needed. She and my dad. I didn’t have a say in it. I didn’t have a choice. Not really.”

One corner of Jemma’s mouth ticks up ever so slightly. She gently rubs the spot above his heart where her hand is resting, unsure of what to say but proud of him for opening up.

Fitz covers her hand with his, drawing in a shaky breath, his eyes tear-rimmed. “I only have room in my heart for—”

Jemma’s lips twitch into another smile. “I know. I know, Fitz. I heard you. I heard what you told her.”

He doesn’t reply, but he tightens his arm around her, pulling her even closer.

Jemma lowers her head back onto Fitz’s chest. The thumping of his heart seems louder this time, faster, but little by little it slows down. She closes her eyes, feeling tears push to the surface. They should sleep, rest, and yet, there are still so many words left unspoken, so many thoughts rushing through her mind, memories, emotions, fears. Something about the dim light in the room, the half-darkness, makes it easier.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, feeling the first tear squeeze past her eyelashes and sink into the fabric of Fitz’s t-shirt.

Fitz shifts again, seemingly trying to look at her, but she doesn’t dare meet his eyes.

“What for?” he asks in confusion.

“For asking you… for—”

Jemma lets out a shaky breath as more tears snake down her face. “I asked you to slit your arm,” she sobs. “I asked you to hurt yourself. I—”

Her voice breaks off. They hadn’t spoken much about what had happened between her and Fitz’s LMD. There hadn’t been much time. There hadn’t been much opportunity. There hadn’t been much desire to. He’d asked as they’d worked on her LMD, hesitantly, guilt lacing each word of his question. She’d tried to avoid answering, but his eyes had pleaded with her and so she’d given in and told him.

Jemma presses her body against his, afraid he’ll push her away, afraid she’ll lose him all over again, but instead she feels him pulling her closer.

“That wasn’t me.”

Jemma grimaces in pain. “I didn’t know that.”

His body jerks briefly when he scoffs. “I think you did. I think you did and even if not… you had to think fast. It was a logical choice. Smart.”

Jemma shakes her head, feeling the wetness of his t-shirt where her tears had gathered rub against her cheek. “No… No, I could have gone back into the hallway. Used the scanner.”

“He wouldn’t have let you, Jemma. He needed you isolated.” Fitz shifts, bending his head and this time Jemma lifts hers to face him. His eyes are warm, reassuring, and the ghost of a smile lingers on his lips. “You made the right choice. That wasn’t me. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

Her lips quiver, pulling hesitantly into a grateful smile. “I need you to know that I would never want to hurt you. I never—”

“I know,” he interrupts her, his tone tender, as he tucks her hair behind her ear, smiling lovingly.

“I have nightmares, Fitz… about what happened,” she admits, and his smile fades, his body tenses below her. “But I want you to know that… that I trust you. I trust you, Fitz, and I know you wouldn’t hurt me. I know that, but when I wake up, my mind… it doesn’t always realize right away, what’s real and what isn’t and so I might… I might—” She has to pause, her breathing strained and anxious. “But I trust you. I trust you, so please, when that happens, just—”

“I will,” he replies quietly and she’s grateful for the silent understanding. “I’ve done it before.”

A sad smile flashes across Jemma’s face, and she lowers her head back onto his chest, exhaling a sigh of relief. “Yes, you have.”

Once again, silence settles in the room, covering everything like a blanket. But Jemma can feel the tension in his muscles, senses that their night of hushed confessions isn’t over yet.

“I wanted to kill you,” he says, barely audibly, his hand never stopping its glide up and down her arm.

Jemma closes her eyes, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“I mean… he… he wanted to kill you. The Doctor,” Fitz corrects himself.

The corners of Jemma’s mouth tick up briefly, and she inhales deeply, reminding herself of Fitz’s scent, as her fingers draw random patterns on his chest.

“I know,” she whispers back. “I know, Fitz, and I understood. I understood, because I had hurt you… him… I had hurt him so much, hurt the people he loved with all his heart and—”

“Yeah, no. That’s not what I—” He falls silent for a moment, and Jemma can hear his heart beat quicker. “I want to thank you.”

Jemma looks up in surprise. “Thank me? For what?”

There are tears in his eyes again and his nostrils flutter as he draws in a stuttering breath. “For not saying it. Not saying what I… what he—”

Jemma’s brows furrow, pained by the memory, and yet her lips pull into a smile. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t let my last words to you be a lie.”

She chuckles sadly. “Because even in there, Fitz, I loved you. I loved _him_. I loved him and you, because even in there where your whole life had been altered, where you had been turned into a person you would never choose to be, the one thing that remained the same was that you loved the ones you loved so deeply, so unconditionally that you’d do anything to keep them safe, and hurting them was something unforgivable. That was one thing that maybe wasn’t so different.”

His eyes are fixed on hers, in a strange mix of awe and disbelief, and like a moth drawn to a flame, Jemma scoots higher, pressing her palm against his cheek. Fitz lifts his head until their lips meet in a soft kiss that slowly deepens. Jemma rolls onto the mattress, pulling Fitz on top of her as their desire grows and their kiss becomes more urgent. She combs through his curls and for a moment, Jemma’s mind allows her to let go completely, let herself be filled with nothing but intoxicating feelings and sensations. Fitz’s hand slides down her arm, disappearing under her shirt, and Jemma’s stomach tightens at the feel of his fingers on her bare skin. But his hand retreats just as quickly, as if he’d been burnt, and Fitz breaks their kiss, pushing himself up slightly and gazing into Jemma’s eyes with a mix of longing and sadness.

Jemma reaches up, her fingertips absentmindedly playing with his beard. “We’ll get there.”

A smile flashes across his face, briefly lighting up his eyes, as he brushes her hair out of her face. “Definitely.”

Fitz rolls off of her, laying down on his side and propping his head up. Jemma turns onto her side to face him, and Fitz reaches forward, his fingers tracing her hairline and jaw. Jemma doesn’t mind the tickling sensation. His eyes grow thoughtful, and he wets his lips. She knows him well enough to realize he’s trying to find the courage to speak what’s on his mind.

“Did you mean it?” he finally asks, barely above a whisper.

Jemma can’t help but chuckle quietly. “I assume my answer is yes, but you might want to specify what exactly you’re referring to.”

“Do you really want kids? With me?”

Jemma’s lips pull into a smile. “Yes. I do.” She shrugs. “I mean, for the longest time, it wasn’t something I thought about at all, but then… lately… as things changed between us… Have you thought about it?”

Fitz nods slightly. “I have, but even before everything… before everything that went down in the last few weeks, I’ve been—”

“Afraid?”

He bops his head. “I just don’t know if I can do it. If I’m made for being a good father. My dad wasn’t exactly—”

Jemma reaches forward, pressing two fingers to his lips to stop him. “Forget about your father, Fitz. You don’t need him. You never did. You’ve had and have an amazing parental role model, and she’s sleeping right next door.”

A smile flashes across Fitz’s face. He grabs Jemma’s wrist, placing a soft kiss to her fingertips, before gently pushing her hand away. “Still, what if—”

“Do you remember,” Jemma interrupts him, “when you came with me to London, right after Clara and Rose were born? Remember how I was petrified, because they were so tiny and fragile and I had no idea what to do with them?”

Jemma can’t help but smile, seeing the way Fitz’s expression changes as she recounts their memory.

“Remember what you did?”

He nods without replying, his eyes briefly shying away, before gazing back at her.

“You went over to Liam, took Rose from him, handed her to me without batting an eye, and said ‘Don’t be such a feartie-cat. It’s a baby, not a time bomb.’”

He laughs out loud, dropping his head back, and the carefree sound warms Jemma’s heart, causing her to join in.

“And then,” Jemma continues, unable to fully bring her laughter under control, “you took Clara and came back to where I was standing, stark and stiff and still petrified, and said, ‘See, easy as that.’”

Fitz chuckles again, but slowly his expression softens and the laughing subsides. “Suppose I didn’t drop them once,” he remarks thoughtfully.

“No, you didn’t,” Jemma replies. “And I know in the last few years, we haven’t had much of a chance to visit them, but—”

She blinks, her eyes filling with tears, a strange mix of happiness and melancholy. “But they love you so much, Fitz.” She chuckles. “I think they might love you more than their Aunt Jemma.”

He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his expression soft and loving. “Not possible.”

The corners of Jemma’s mouth tick up almost by reflex at his compliment. “What I’m trying to say, Fitz, is that I worry about a lot of things, but I have no doubt in my mind that you would be a wonderful father.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything in return, his eyes slowly wandering to the mattress.

“But this is most certainly not something we have to decide tonight,” Jemma adds to reassure him.

His head shoots back up, and he looks at her wide-eyed. “I want to. I mean, not tonight, but… I want to.”

Jemma can’t stop her lips from pulling wider and wider until her smile stretches from ear to ear.

Fitz’s face lights up as if the sun were shining down on him. Once again, he curls his fingers around her ear, tucking away her hair.

“I hope they get your smile,” he whispers.

Jemma lets out a single, joyous laugh.

“I hope they get your eyes,” she replies quietly.

He pauses for a moment, a boyish grin playing on his lips. “I hope they don’t get my hair.”

“Awwww. I hope they do.” Jemma furrows her brows in disappointment.

Fitz stares back at her, shrugging in pretend bewilderment. “Why do you hate our imaginary children?”

Jemma laughs out loud, reaching forward to playfully slap him, but he catches her wrist, pulling her hand closer to kiss her palm.

Jemma’s expression softens and she brings her hand to rest on his chest instead. “I hope they get your heart.”

He swallows, noticeably choked up. Tears fill his eyes as he covers her hand with his. “I think maybe… maybe they can’t go wrong when it comes to that. Your heart or mine. Maybe.”

A smile flashes across Jemma’s face and she scoots closer to softly kiss his lips. “I think you’re right about that.”

They fall silent, bathing in the serenity of each other’s eyes.

“What do you think will happen next?” Fitz asks quietly.

“I’m sure Coulson will tell us his next plan tomorrow.”

Fitz lifts his arm, inviting Jemma to once again snuggle up against him. “You think we’ll have to run again?”

“Probably.” Jemma rests her head back on Fitz’s chest, her hand sliding across his torso, pulling herself even closer. For a moment, she allows herself to let the rhythmic beating of his heart calm her senses. She closes her eyes, inhaling deeply. “But I don’t mind as long as we can run together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Feels, Part 2.


	9. You’re packing a suitcase for a place none of us has been

Jemma’s eyes take a moment to adjust, but slowly the blurry, red-glowing lights of the hotel alarm clock on the nightstand start to form actual numbers. It’s just after 4:30. She can’t remember why she woke up. Maybe she’d dreamt about something, but she can’t remember any details. It wasn’t a nightmare—at least not one of her usual ones. She hadn’t shot up in bed, her heart isn’t racing, she hadn’t screamed. She feels Fitz stir, his arm tightening around her and his body scooting closer until he’s spooning her. A smile flashes across her face and she closes her eyes, finding his forearm and sliding her hand along it until her fingers intertwine with his.  
  
When Jemma wakes up again, the clock reads 8:43. She’s comfy, cozy and warm, and yet something is different. She turns and shoots up in bed when she realizes she’s alone. Her heart beats so loudly it seems as if the sound overpowers everything else, her ears barely picking up the buzzing sound coming from the en-suite bathroom. Jemma stumbles out of bed and rushes to the bathroom, swinging the door open and calling out his name.  
  
Fitz stands in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped around his lower body, tilting his head slightly as he moves a trimmer across his jaw and neck. He turns around in surprise when he notices the door opening, lowering his razor and turning it off.   
  
“Hey,” he says, a soft smile playing on his lips.  
  
Jemma’s chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, pressing the hand not clutching the door handle first against her chest and then bringing it up to press the heel against her eye socket, where tears have appeared out of nowhere.   
  
“Hey, hey, hey.” Fitz quickly puts his razor down and takes the two steps from the sink to where Jemma is standing in the door. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, one hand reaching up to bring her head against his chest. “Shhhh. It’s okay.”  
  
Jemma closes her eyes, listening to the steady thumping of his heart as more tears push to the surface. Her body begins to shake, and she’s unable to tell if it’s from sobbing or laughing.  
  
She leans back and is greeted by Fitz’s blue eyes gazing at her, full of concern. A weak chuckle escapes her lips, as she reaches up to wipe away her tears before resting her hands against his chest.  
  
“I woke up and you weren’t there and I—Ugh. I feel so silly.”  
  
Fitz pushes her hair out of her face, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks. “You’re not silly. Hey, with everything that’s happened to us, I sometimes wish I could just staple myself to you.”  
  
Jemma can’t help but laugh, her lips pulling into a wide smile. “That’s a horrible idea.”  
  
Fitz’s eyes light up as he joins her laughter. “You think?”  
  
Jemma draws in a deep breath, her expression growing more serious. “Well, it’s not exactly healthy to be entirely codependent.”  
  
Fitz shakes his head, his hands sliding down until they land at the small of her back, pulling her closer. “That’s not it, Jemma. I think given the right circumstances we’re perfectly capable of being apart. The problem is that… that we’ve constantly been ripped apart without having a say in it. And that scenario of closing my eyes for a second only to find you gone the next, that’s been true too many times. That fear is real.”  
  
He pauses, smiling weakly. “So no, you’re not silly, Jemma. We’re not silly. That fear isn’t silly. That’s been real, and that’ll take time to get over.”  
  
Jemma’s lips pull into a pained smile. She nods, blinking away tears and sniffling briefly.  
  
Fitz tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, before resting his hand on Jemma’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry I scared you. I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. I wanted to shower and get rid of this damn Hagrid’s beard, and you looked so peaceful. I thought I could freshen up and sneak right back into bed with you.”  
  
A smile flashes across Jemma’s face and she reaches up to let her fingers glide over his trimmed beard, tilting her head slightly. “Looks good.”  
  
Fitz smiles back at her, wrapping his arms a bit tighter around her waist and pulling her closer. “I’m almost done. How ‘bout I finish up and then the bathroom is all yours.”  
  
Jemma shrugs. “Well, I showered last night. I won’t need much time.”  
  
“Still.”  
  
Jemma doesn’t reply, her eyes gazing into his, while her palm still rests against his stubbly cheek.  
  
“Wanna stay in here while I finish up?” Fitz asks quietly, and Jemma closes her eyes briefly, a bit embarrassed that he’d picked up on her hesitation to leave.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous.”  
  
Fitz chuckles quietly, his blue eyes looking at her with warmth and understanding. “Leave the door open, maybe?”  
  
Jemma rolls her eyes ever so slightly, one corner of her mouth ticking up. “Maybe.”  
  
Fitz leans down, pressing a soft kiss against her lips. “Ten minutes tops.”  
  
Jemma nods, before letting go of him and heading back to the master bedroom. She sits down on the bed, listening as his razor turns back on and the steady buzzing continues.  
  
It’s less than ten minutes when Fitz comes out of the bathroom, still dressed only in his towel. “All yours. I… I’m gonna get dressed in here and then I want to—”  
  
“—check on your Mum. Of course.”  
  
Fitz nods, smiling at Jemma, before ticking his head to one side. “And then we can head to the meeting with Coulson and the others.”   
  
A little puff of air escapes Jemma’s nostrils as she pushes herself to standing, bopping her head in agreement. She walks past Fitz towards the bathroom, but Fitz catches her hand, pulling her back. Jemma looks at him, a tad surprised.   
  
He lifts her hand, his thumb gliding over her engagement ring.   
  
“You mind if I tell her?” he asks, an excited sparkle glistening in his eyes.  
  
Jemma smiles widely. “Not one bit.”  
  
Fitz nods, his thumb gliding one more time over the diamond before he lets go of her hand. Jemma turns and heads into the bathroom. She closes the door, but Fitz calls her name.  
  
Jemma opens the door a bit wider again, peeking her head through the gap. “Yes?”  
  
Fitz gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “Just, you know… if you hear someone screaming in the other room—”  
  
Jemma chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Happy screaming, not due to peril.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
Jemma snickers for a moment longer, as she tries to close the door for the second time.  
  
“And Jemma—”  
  
Once again, she widens the gap between door and door frame, drawing out a long “Yeeeeees?” and unable to stop from grinning.  
  
“I love you,” Fitz says tenderly, his expression far more serious than it had been just a moment ago.  
  
Tears shoot to Jemma eyes, and her lips twitch, torn between smiling and crying. She swings the door back open, rushing to Fitz and cupping his face to kiss him with a passion she doesn’t quite expect herself.  
  
When they break their kiss, they gaze breathlessly into each other’s eyes, both smiling happily.  
  
“I love you, too,” Jemma whispers.

* * *

They walk down the hotel corridor towards Coulson’s room, Aileen to the left of Fitz and Jemma to his right. His eyes scan their surroundings and his body seems tense. Jemma looks down at their intertwined hands; Fitz’s grip is unusually firm. She squeezes his hand gently, causing him to look at her, and when she smiles at him reassuringly, a weak smile flashes across his own face and he seems to relax just a little.

They knock on the door and it only takes a moment before Coulson opens. Jemma peeks past her superior, surprised to see everyone else already gathered in the suite.

“Are we late?” she asks, slightly confused, glancing at her watch.

“No.” Coulson gestures into the room to invite them in. “For the first time in my career everyone appears to be early. It’s a miracle.”

“I think it mainly has to do with the fact that we’d like to get the fuck out of here before our mysterious bloodhounds find us,” Daisy remarks dryly from where she’s sitting on the bed.

“Sir,” Fitz pipes up quietly, “is it okay if my mum—? I mean, I know S.H.I.E.L.D. regul—”

Daisy laughs out loud. “S.H.I.E.L.D. regulations? Really? Please!”

Coulson’s mouth pulls into a warm smile. “Daisy’s right. Regulations went out the window a while ago. You’re more than welcome to stay, Mrs. Fitz.”

Fitz’s mum smiles shyly. “Thank you. And it’s Aileen, please.”

Coulson nods in confirmation, stepping to the side and allowing FitzSimmons and Aileen to take a few more steps into the room, before he closes the door.

“So, what’s our next step?” Mack asks, leaning against the wall, with Elena standing next to him.

Coulson rubs his palms together before gesturing at three room service carts. “Well, I thought we’d start here.”

Daisy lifts her head in the direction of the food, carafes with water and juice, thermoses with coffee and hot water, and two bottles of champagne “What’s all this anyways?”

“Breakfast,” Coulson replies matter-of-factly.

“With champagne?” Elena raises her eyebrows.

Coulson shrugs. “Special occasion.”

“Sir?” Fitz asks, squinting in confusion, his tone quiet and hesitant.

Coulson swings his arms triumphantly to both sides. “Celebrate freedom. The end of running.”

“We’ve been acquitted?” Mack wrinkles his forehead in cautious optimism.

Coulson tilts his head side-to-side. “Well. Sort of.”

“Sir?” Jemma asks, fixing her eyes on her superior, whose gaze seems to wander to the floor. Jemma furrows her brows, looking at May instead, who’s standing next to Coulson.

Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, and she’s eying Coulson with stern determination. “Phil.”

Jemma notices that May’s not asking a question. She’s giving an order, scolding Coulson for his evasiveness.

Coulson looks back at May, drawing in a slow breath before exhaling sharply. “I made a deal.”

All voices but Coulson’s and May’s pipe up at once.

“What?” – “What do you mean?” – “What kind of deal?” – “With whom?”

Jemma’s not even sure which of those questions she’d asked herself.

Coulson raises his hands to ask for silence. “I’ve had a pretty good hunch as to who’s been after us. Truth be told, while they certainly wouldn’t have minded getting a hold of all of us, it’s really been me they’ve been after.”

Fitz opens his mouth to say something, but Coulson turns, pointing directly at him.

“And, Fitz, before you start, this has nothing to do with what went down at the Playground. They’ve been trying to recruit me for years. This was just their best opportunity to convince me.”

Once again, everyone in the room speaks at once.

“Recruit?” – “Convince you?” – “What do you—?”

“May and I met with them last night,” Coulson interrupts the uproar. “This isn’t about any of you. This is about me, and I have no interest in pulling you down with me any longer.”

“What?” Daisy exclaims, her eyes fiery and disbelieving.

Fitz shakes his head. “Sir, no. Just the other day you said we were in this together.”

Coulson waves his hand horizontally to the floor, in a _That’s final_ motion. “This is my decision, Fitz.”

Fitz lets go of Jemma’s hand, pressing his fingers to his chest, and raising his voice, noticably agitated. “Well, then why wasn’t it mine when I—?”

“Because I’m the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and you’re not,” Coulson interjects authoritatively.

“Sir—” Jemma tries to chime in.

She stops when Daisy jumps up from the bed, pointing at Coulson. “There’s no S.H.I.E.L.D.. You’re not Director anymore. You’re no longer our superior. You can’t just—”

But Coulson won’t let her finish. “It’s a done deal, Daisy. You’re all free to go. You won’t be prosecuted. You won’t be followed. But none of you will follow me. That’s my final order to you. May’s the only one to accompany me.”

Elena shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

“This is bullshit,” Daisy exclaims, gesturing in FitzSimmons’ direction. “We didn’t let Fitz take the hit and we won’t let you take the hit either.”

“This is for the best, Daisy.” Everyone looks in surprise at May, whose eyes are focused on Daisy, even though she seems to be addressing everyone in the room. “And the best way you can help is by going along with this.”

Daisy pauses for a moment and her expression grows furious again. “No! Fuck this. I didn’t sign up for—”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is dead, Daisy,” Coulson yells, before lowering his voice. “But its legacy isn’t. There are plenty of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s _secrets_ hidden that nobody knows about, including my new employer. Secrets you’ve been involved in. Secrets you could take to the next level. Secrets that could do a lot of good in this world.”

Daisy falls silent, clearly having picked up on Coulson’s emphasis. She holds his gaze, blinking away tears, before nodding barely noticably.

Coulson turns slightly, looking to where Elena and Mack are standing. “And Elena—”

“I like secrets.” Elena shrugs, a smug smile playing on her lips. She ticks her head to the side. “And Daisy’s not half bad company. Just don’t make me wear a cape.”

Coulson chuckles briefly, before focusing on Mack. “Mack?”

Mack scoffs, shaking his head in amused disbelief. “Someone’s gonna have to keep an eye on those two and their ‘secrets’,” he remarks dryly, forming airquotes around his final word.

Coulson smiles. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a business card, and handing it to Mack.

Mack furrows his brows. “Huntingbird Investigators?”

Coulson lifts his chin in the direction of the small card in Mack’s hand. “Give them a call. They can help. We’ve worked with them before. Can’t tell you much about them, except that they’re _definitely_ not associated with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Mack looks up, raising his eyebrows. One corner of his mouth ticks up into a knowing smile as he tucks the business card into his pocket. Like an infectious wave of happiness, his smile spreads through the entire room.

Coulson nods in May’s direction before turning to look at FitzSimmons. Jemma watches in slight confusion as May pulls an envelope from the inner pocket of her jacket, holding it in front of them. Fitz briefly glances at Jemma, before hesitantly taking it.

“These are your new passports and tickets to Glasgow,” Coulson explains. “One way.”

Fitz looks wide-eyed at Jemma and his mum before focusing back on Coulson.

“Sir?” he asks with tears in his eyes, his voice trembling in a mix of nervousness and excitement.

“Take your mom home and stay as long as you like.” Coulson looks back and forth between Jemma and Fitz. “You two have done amazing work for S.H.I.E.L.D. Without your inventions and expertise, S.H.I.E.L.D. may not have survived as long as it did. I know you have doubts about this right now, Fitz, but they’re unwarranted. I know whatever your path will be, you’ll do a lot of good. Both of you. Together.” He ticks his head in the direction of Daisy, Elena, and Mack. “Maybe you’ll help these guys, but—to be honest—I’d understand if you decided to take a step back and live a simpler life.”

Jemma’s eyes wander across the room, her vision blurry from tears pushing to the surface. She glances at Fitz, whose expression is much like hers.

“What about A.I.M.?” Fitz asks quietly. “My father?”

“Piper and Hill took care of your father. You won’t have to worry about him. And thanks to our little unauthorized mission yesterday, A.I.M. has taken a serious hit.” Coulson purses his lips, briefly ticking his head to the side. “Plus, part of my deal is that all of you will be under protection. Those who are after me aren’t the bad guys, they’re just a different kind of good.”

“So, that’s it?” Daisy shrugs, tears in her eyes. “We’re splitting up? Splinter groups? Going our separate ways?”

“Not entirely.” Coulson shakes his head. “You’re free to stay in touch with each other. Again: that’s part of the deal. And I’ll have May to keep me in check.”

He looks in May’s direction and a soft smile flashes across May’s face.

“And where we’re going, it’s not a prison,” Coulson continues. “It’s not exactly what I’d expected my path to be, but it’s not a bad path to take. In many ways, it’ll be similar to what we’ve done all along: keeping the world safe.”

A bittersweet silence settles in the room, filled with uncertainties and possibilities. Jemma interlaces her fingers with Fitz’s, closing her eyes at the comforting sensation of Fitz gently squeezing her hand.

She opens her eyes again when Coulson speaks up.

“Now, how ‘bout we celebrate before the champagne gets warm?”

“Celebrate what?” Daisy shrugs, her tone still sad and defeated.

Coulson gestures in Fitzsimmons’ direction. “FitzSimmons’ engagement.”

Fitz and Jemma briefly glance at each other before staring at Coulson with questioning eyes.

Coulson purses his lips, a grin playing on his lips. “I assume the fact you’re still wearing that ring means you’ve let your fiancé know he’s engaged now?”

Jemma can’t help but chuckle quietly, before looking at Fitz. His thumb gently glides across the back of her hand and he smiles at her shyly, a perfect reflection of her own expression. Jemma raises her head, her eyes wandering from person to person. Everyone appears to be smiling, Aileen looks proudly at them, and even Daisy’s face seems to have lightened up.

Jemma sighs, turning to Coulson. “Will you and May be able to attend the wedding, Sir? Whenever it may be.”

Coulson shrugs, one corner of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly. “Who knows? Wouldn’t count on it. But wouldn’t rule it out either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for fluffy epilogue goodness.


	10. A place that has to be believed to be seen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani for being my loyal and wonderful beta.

They’re outside their cottage, sitting side by side on the wooden bench next to their back entrance. The air is still warm, despite a light breeze blowing through the trees. Fitz’s arm is wrapped around Jemma, his thumb gently rubbing up and down her arm. She rests her head against his, unable to stop from smiling. She’s still in her wedding dress and even though he had reiterated again and again that he would change as soon as the ceremony was over, Fitz is still wearing his kilt.  
  
The party tent, tables, and chairs are still lined up in the yard, empty and half-empty glasses and plates left to be cleaned up the next day. Jemma sighs, her eyes wandering around the yard to the few people who hadn’t left yet.  
  
Elena is leaning back against Mack, who has his arms wrapped around her. They’re both gently swaying to the music still playing quietly in the background, their eyes fixed on the clear night sky. Bobbi is sitting at one of the tables, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she watches her two friends dance. Hunter, next to her, rests his head on one hand, while the other holds on to an empty bottle of beer as if it could lend his drunken body physical support. His eyes look in the same direction as Bobbi’s but are glazed over, as he slowly drifts off to sleep. Piper is hunched forward, her head on the table and her arms hanging loosely by her side. She seems to be fast asleep, apparently having lost the battle Hunter’s still fighting. Daisy sits on the short stone wall fence, her legs dangling. She leans slightly backwards, resting her weight on her arms, and looks up at the stars, deeply in thought.  
  
Jemma turns her head, her movements causing Fitz to look at her. They smile at each other and Fitz leans forward to press a soft kiss to Jemma’s lips. For a moment, they gaze into each other’s eyes, before Jemma shifts back to snuggle up against Fitz, his arm pulling her even closer.  
  
“You think they knew it was today?” Daisy suddenly asks, causing everyone but Piper to look in her direction.  
  
“What kind of question is that even?”  
  
All heads shoot in the direction of the far end of the yard from where the familiar voice had spoken, and everyone’s eyes widen in surprise when Coulson and May step out of the shadows.   
  
“Coulson! May!” Daisy exclaims, jumping off the wall.  
  
Jemma smiles widely as May and Coulson walk closer, pushing herself up to standing, with Fitz following suit behind her. Her expression grows more serious when she notices Coulson’s thin frame and his slightly sunken-in cheeks. But Coulson looks at them with his usual boyish charm and mischievous grin, easing Jemma’s initial worries.  
  
Piper lets out a disgruntled groan when Hunter elbows her. Sleepily, she pushes herself up, glaring at the Brit in discontent. “What?”  
  
Hunter lifts his chin in the direction of Coulson and May, and Piper’s eyes widen in shock. She stumbles to her feet. “Sir. Ma’am. Commander. May!”  
  
“Relax, Piper,” May replies, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.  
  
Jemma steps in front of her former superiors, hugging first May and then Coulson. “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”  
  
Coulson shrugs. “Couldn’t miss the big event.”  
  
“Well, you sort of missed it,” Daisy remarks, crossing her arms in front of her chest and grinning one-sidedly.  
  
Coulson lifts his hands in a _What are you talking about_ gesture. “We’re here now.” He gestures at Jemma and Fitz. “They’re still dressed for the wedding. That counts.”  
  
“Well, excellent!” Hunter exclaims, walking on somewhat unsteady feet towards the small group that has formed. He comes to a stop next to Fitz, slapping him so vigorously on the back that Fitz lets out a surprised cough. “Fitz, mate, be a good host and fetch some more beers for the new arrivals… and me… and everyone else.”  
  
Fitz chuckles quietly, eyeing Hunter sideways before shaking his head in amusement.   
  
“You got it, mate,” he replies, squeezing Hunter’s shoulder. He takes half a step back, glancing at Jemma before turning around to head to the door.  
  
“Oh! And mate!” Hunter calls after him, causing Fitz to turn back around, looking at Hunter questioningly. “Get one for your lovely wife, too, alright.”  
  
Hunter gestures at Jemma, whose eyes widen in surprise. “Aside from half a glass of champagne I don’t think I’ve seen her drink a single drop all day. I don’t know about you guys, but where I’m from, the bride gets just as pissed as everyone else!”  
  
Fitz and Jemma exchange a panicked look, and Jemma grimaces, squinting her eyes when she hears Daisy exclaim loudly, “Fuck, Simmons! Are you pregnant?”   
  
Jemma silently stares at her friend, unable to form words, which seems to be enough for Daisy to come to her own conclusion. “Holy shit, you are, aren’t you?”  
  
Jemma glances at Fitz, who shrugs, giving her a _Suppose now’s a good time_ half-smile, before walking back to where everyone is standing, supportively wrapping his arm around Jemma’s waist.  
  
Jemma sighs, turning to look at Daisy, who—much like everyone else—is staring expectantly at her. “Fine, yes, I’m pregnant.”  
  
Daisy’s mouth gapes so wide that Jemma’s half afraid she’ll dislocate her temporomandibular joint. “Holy fucking shit!” Daisy eventually screams, far louder than necessary. “Why didn’t I know about this?”  
  
Jemma shrugs. “Because it’s still fairly early and we wanted to wait a bit longer before announcing it.”  
  
Daisy looks wide-eyed at Coulson and May. “Did you know about this?”  
  
Coulson squints at her in amused confusion. “We have people keeping us up-to-date on things, Daisy, but we’re not actually psychic.”  
  
But Daisy doesn’t seem to care about his reply, turning back to look at Jemma and Fitz, continuing her interrogation. “Was this planned?”  
  
Jemma rolls her eyes. “Sure, because there’s nothing like the thrill of worrying that you won’t fit into your dress anymore on your big day to make wedding planning more exciting.” She pauses for a moment to let her sarcasm sink in, before continuing, her tone still a bit peeved. “No, of course this wasn’t planned. But during all the wedding preparation stress, I must have forgotten to—”  
  
Daisy snorts.  
  
Jemma crosses her arms in front of her chest, glaring at her friend impatiently. “What?”  
  
Daisy laughs. “Simmons, you’ve been through some crazy shit through the years—stress that some people wouldn’t be able to handle. And yet, I doubt you ever slipped up in your birth control routine. But a year and a half without S.H.I.E.L.D. and suddenly you’re like, ‘Oh, well, whatever?’”  
  
Jemma gasps. “Well, first of all, there weren’t that many opportunities during my time at S.H.I.E.L.D. when I even needed birth control. And second of all, I had an IUD, but I’ve started to have issues with it, cramps, frequent spotting, heavier periods—”  
  
Hunter groans, grimacing in disgust and gesturing at Jemma with pleading eyes. “Could we maybe not—?”  
  
Bobbi pats him on his shoulder. “Relax, she’s not talking about your uterus.”  
  
Hunter glares at his wife disgruntledly, but falls silent, while everyone else tries in vain to suppress their laughter.  
  
“Anyway,” Jemma continues once she’s recovered, “I had the IUD removed a few months ago and switched to the pill and with the wedding stress and—” She shrugs. “We had talked about wanting children. And while we didn’t exactly think it would happen so quickly—”  
  
“Hey,” Daisy interrupts Jemma, raising her hands apologetically. “You do know I’m super excited, right?”  
  
Jemma’s expression softens, and she teasingly scrunches her nose. “You have a strange way of showing that.”  
  
Daisy walks over and hugs them both, before leaning back and raising one hand in the air, her head turning in all directions to look at everyone gathered around Jemma and Fitz. “Dibs on Godparent.”  
  
Jemma shrugs. “I don’t know, Daisy. There is my brother and—”  
  
Daisy purses her lips, looking rather pitifully at Jemma with big puppy eyes.   
  
Jemma laughs, before grinning mischievously, rolling her eyes. “Of course you’ll be one of the godparents, Daisy.”  
  
Daisy pulls her arm back, forming a triumphant fist. “Yes!”  
  
“Hey, what about—?” Hunter chimes in in protest, but is interrupted by Bobbi’s, “No.”  
  
“But—” Hunter tries again, before an even sterner “No!” from Bobbi puts an end to his attempt to talk his way into being a godparent.  
  
Hunter scoffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Fine. Honorary Uncle, you American party pooper.”  
  
Bobbi chuckles quietly, patting Hunter lovingly on his shoulder. “Love you, too, Hunter. Love you, too.”  
  
Hunter looks at Bobbi through the corners of his eyes, trying in vain to maintain his pouting expression.  
  
“So, what about those beers Hunter asked for earlier?” Coulson breaks the silence, shrugging expectantly.   
  
Fitz points at Coulson with both hands. “Coming right up, Sir.”  
  
“It’s Phil, Fitz. Just Phil.”  
  
Fitz nods, smiling shyly before looking at May. “Can I get you one, too?” He hesitates, squinting in confusion. “Melin—?”  
  
“May will do nicely,” May replies matter-of-factly, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “And no, none for me.” She ticks her head in the direction of the others. “Someone’s gonna have to stay sober and drive the rest back to their hotel later.”  
  
Bobbi raises one hand. “I’m the designated driver, May. Go ahead and have one.”  
  
May nods in gratitude. “Alright then. I’ll take one, Fitz.”  
  
“Oh, oh!” Hunter pipes up suddenly, gesturing excitedly in Jemma’s direction. “Simmons isn’t drinking. She could drive all of us!” He looks at Bobbi, beaming with drunken pride. “Then you could have a drink too, my love!”  
  
Bobbi squints disapprovingly. “Hunter, only you would have the audacity to suggest the bride— _pregnant_ bride—drive home the rest of her wedding party.”  
  
Hunter shrugs, still gesturing at Jemma. “Well, since she’s not—”  
  
Bobbi places her hand on Hunter’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Just shut up, honey, will ya?”  
  
“Fine.”

* * *

Jemma rolls off to the side, laying down on her back and trying to catch her breath. She can’t help but smile as her body is flooded with oxytocin and endorphins. Her sweaty back sticks to the sheets and the soft breeze blowing in through the half-open window sends a chill over her naked body.  
  
She turns her head slightly when she notices Fitz rolling onto his side. He props his head up on one hand, and his fingers find a tickling trail from Jemma’s collar bone, down her sternum and back up again. His lips are pulled into a wide smile and he looks at her adoringly. “Glad we checked that off our wedding to-do list.”  
  
Jemma laughs quietly. “Well, it’s expected, is it not?”  
  
“Sure is.” Fitz’s eyes are fixed on where his fingers still absentmindedly stroke up and down Jemma’s body. “It was a good day,” he says quietly, as if his mind were torn between the now and somewhere else.  
  
Jemma places her hand on Fitz’s, intertwining their fingers. She turns to look at him, smiling reassuringly. “It was perfect.”  
  
A smile flashes across Fitz’s face, and slowly he brings both his and Jemma’s hands down to her stomach. “Even though Hunter spoiled our little secret.”  
  
Jemma scoffs in amusement, shrugging slightly. “Well, they would have found out soon anyways. And this way, Coulson and May were there.”  
  
“It was good to see them.”  
  
“Yes, it was,” Jemma replies.  
  
For a few silent moments, Fitz gazes at Jemma in a way she can’t quite interpret. Then he scoots a little closer, cupping her cheek. “You happy?”  
  
Jemma can’t help but laugh out loud. “Is that a rhetorical question?”  
  
Fitz grins shyly, raising his eyebrows questioningly.  
  
Jemma shifts so she can look at Fitz more directly. “I married my best friend today, Fitz. Our families and friends were there to witness it. I’m lying next to you in our home, our perfect little home, carrying our child. _And_ I just had amazing post-wedding sex.”  
  
Jemma’s lips pull even wider when her remark coaxes a chuckle from Fitz. She reaches up, letting her hand glide across his stubble. “I am very, very happy. Right now and in the future.”  
  
“Good,” Fitz replies, barely above a whisper.  
  
“How ‘bout you?” Jemma asks, unable to resist the question.  
  
Fitz scrunches his nose, shrugging. “I don’t know. I think things could be better.”  
  
Jemma squints at her husband skeptically, fully aware of the playful sparkle in his eyes.  
  
“We should get a monkey,” Fitz adds, grinning mischievously.  
  
Jemma drops her head back, laughing out loud. She rolls on top of Fitz but not without first grabbing the pillow from beneath her head, hitting him with it.  
  
Fitz tries to defend himself from Jemma’s attack, flipping both of them over so he’s on top, gently pinning her down. “Maybe a dog at least?”   
  
Jemma can’t help but laugh even more, until Fitz silences her with a soft kiss. When he breaks away, there’s still a hint of a smug smile playing on his lips.   
  
Jemma gazes back at him, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as she wraps one leg around Fitz, pulling him closer by the hips. “How ‘bout a second round of post-wedding sex? You think that’ll cheer you up?”   
  
Fitz clears his throat, trying to maintain a serious expression but failing miserably. “It’s a bit of a short-term solution in my opinion, and I might still need a few minutes to recover from the first round—” His lips pull into a wide grin and he shrugs ever so slightly. “But I suppose that’ll do.”  
  
Jemma laughs, reaching up to pull Fitz in for another passionate kiss. When she stops, Fitz gazes at her with a serene sincerity.  
  
“I _am_ happy,” he says quietly. “Just in case that wasn’t clear.”

Jemma beams at Fitz, running her fingers through his curls. “Well, all available data certainly pointed in that direction, but it’s nice to get verbal confirmation.”   
  
“Yeah, it is,” Fitz replies, softly, leaning down to seal Jemma’s lips with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there goes another multi-chap that turned out way longer than initially thought. Sigh. Somehow it's always hard to finish them and see them go (so to speak).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the ride (despite all the angst, more angst, and even more angst at the beginning)


End file.
